This rain will never end.
It hurtles towards the ground in urgent lines of hissing, insistent, driving, silver sorrow. The swollen sky is fat with threatening thunder and lit by livid flashes of ill-tempered lightning.
The pious are building desperate arks amongst the sodden ruins of their bruised, spoiled, pointless summer. The make up on the faces of the carnival children is streaked and sad.
The hair on the pretty girls is hanging lank and wet on their white skinned shoulders, their cotton dresses are clinging to their sun-starved legs. Boys without purpose suck on damp cigarettes and watch the flood from beneath noisy, dripping, green trees.
I will drink my red wine and imagine myself beneath a friendly blue sky where the sun is hot and constant and where the sea gently nudges the fishing boats as they rest for the day.
I will try not to let this miserable, grey, tiresome beast of a depression that the cruel rain has ushered in wrestle me down into muddy brown puddles of chilly despair.
I will try, but as a sickly evening light seeps into the greyness, I can already feel its dark, slippery, familiar weight descending upon me.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Photo by Deniz Senyesil
This is not new. I wrote it some years ago in a miserable summer. Not unlike this one.