The Chronicle Gambia
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When It Rained

When it rained…

I thought about first meetings

For some reason, pickles come to mind…

 to be eaten together

One jar riper than the other…

I thought of uncertain handshakes and awkward hugs

Of walking away fast

Of standing far away and watching one walk away fast

Of remembered details

And of details we get reminded of…

Of puffs

Of white shirts

And seemingly zebras mounted on foreheads

 It rained and I remembered… not because it rained then, but because rain speaks to the soul and reminds you of the beauty of living. 

And petals of a flower, blown far apart in heavy wind. Forever lost to one another, it seems. But find each other again, in rebirth, in time, unforeseen.

When it rained, I remembered testing the waters with the tips of my toes

And then my foot

And then a leg

And plunging into a pool of golden warmth

At ease, turbulent, relentless.

It rains still. 

The rain stops, but when it does, the air smells beautifully. 

Remember to breathe in.

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