Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Driving in the Rain

Dark night, white noise, perpetual patter
barred by glass and shuttled away to fly off
in all directions, solid drops shattered out of themselves,
fallen beneath wheels and trickling to a place
of lesser resistance, to collect and sit in pools,
over and over again, so many, so much,
spewed from a bounteous heavenly store.
Driving into them, through it, propelling this craft
past a million water spatters hitting simultaneously
as each droplet scatters its airborne contents over
glass and metal, or trees and concrete, whatever
surface stops it, for which purpose this vehicle
is no different than the miles of asphalt left behind it.
They all become one, a sheen, a coating called
by a common term, water, rain, precipitation,
so massive and encompassing, yet each fragment
must make its own small sound before absorption.

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