Multi-Faith and Belief Chaplaincy, For All Faiths and None

Rain on a Friday in November

For today's MindLetter, KittyWheater leaves prose behind in order to write about rain, and the weight of the things we carry.

A photo of somebody holding an umbrella up while it pours down with rain in a city.

This week prose eluded me. This is what happened instead. 


Rain on a Friday in November 


Rain on a Friday in November is  

The coat that drips gently in the corner of the room. 

It’s the screech of rusting brake cables on a bicycle 

The leaves that gleam in the gutter 

The umbrella abandoned by the recycling bin, 

Life broken by a gust of wind. 

It is the wrong bin. 


It’s the way you weigh the travel. 

The steam and wheeze of stop-start sodden bus, 

The commitment to a skin-soaked bike ride 

The wet face of an hour’s walk.  

It is the dream of the impervious. 

Splashback under tyres wakes you.  

a photo of a rainbow stretching from the sea to the land


Rain on a Friday in November is 

The electronic door that won’t open, 

Or judders to a halt 

Too soon for your wet feet.  

Your prints spell the city up the stairs. 


Drink hot coffee. A change of clothes, 

But you still feel weak beneath the weight 

Of shadowy things, too drizzly for words 

Over-bearing clouds, too dense for silence. 


Rain on a Friday in November is the way you start to wonder 

If you might give some of your own sorrow to the flood. 

Could you? 


Might you watch the rain and let it fall? 

Coat dripping, weight of everything, wait for the lightening sky?  


It's small, this, and not an ending. But tomorrow: will be dry.