When the Sky Forgets How to Hold Water!

Then the deluge. Rain doesn’t fall here; it attacks. It’s horizontal, vertical, diagonal – auditioning for a role in a cyclone movie. Children shriek, transforming puddles into instant oceans, launching stick-boats manned by bewildered beetles. Goats, caught mid-nibble, stand frozen, looking deeply offended. Auntie Carol’s laundry, pegged out in defiant hope five minutes prior, now becomes abstract art, dripping sadly. “My good sheets!” she wailed, shaking a fist at the sky, drowned out by the drumming on the tin roof…

The Bus Stop Lyricist

Our conversation was brief, but it left an indelible mark on me. The quirky stranger, with his soulful music and gentle wisdom, became a reminder to the beauty that can bloom even in the cracks of the concrete jungle. He reminded me that even when the world seems cold and indifferent, there’s a song waiting to be sung, a story waiting to be told.

As I walked away, the rain seemed less heavy, the city noise a little less jarring. The encounter had rekindled a tiny spark of hope within me, a reminder that even the most random encounters can hold the power to mend a broken spirit and nudge us back onto the path of our dreams…