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.