Voices in the Rain

It often rains in Vancouver. That’s a fact.

I don’t mind it. The rain lives in my cells; in my memory of family members who came here before me.

I hear their voices sharing their stories in the storm drains when it rains. As the plink of droplets becomes the burble of a stream, which becomes an underground creek weaving its way beneath the streets, unseen, I hear their love and laughter nourishing the soil where I tread today.

It often rains in Vancouver and I don’t mind it one bit.

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