Reminiscences on a Train

It is raining.

Flecks on the glass become droplets,

coalesce into rivulets, turn horizontally

and gather pace as

the train outraces the rain.

The shower becomes a downpour,

then a storm. Spouts of water

bounce off passing streets; torrents 

gush from downpipes, overpowering gutters, 

converting roads to rivers. And 

with each moment the scenery changes;

the years roll back, until I sense the

cold, biting wind of a Yorkshire dale;

your hood-framed face smiling through

a curtain of dripping water.

I hear, too, the wind raging around

a cliff-top cottage on Lundy Isle,

as you sip wine by candlelight;

and I sense the humidity as you shower

outside amidst the heat of a Maldivian storm.

With every cloudburst, the dust

of the years is washed away, revealing

memory after memory until the

scene settles on two stone steps

within a Lincoln doorway, framing

an umbrella,

and two people, twenty years younger;

and I know the intensity of that

rain-soaked moment when

I knew.

© Copyright Robert M Jaggs-Fowler 2011