The white noise of rain.

One day I waited at the bus stop as it was raining... Just me, no-one else there, listening to the rain.

The sky unleashes its pent up anger and fury on the ground beneath it.  The rain strikes anything in its path; living or not, moving or stationary, for it has no care about anything except itself.

I sigh with disbelief that it is raining on a Monday morning - how apt to starting the week; cold, wet and miserable.  There is nothing more I would love than to be back at home in my warm bed with my cat working, instead of journeying into work to just do work.

The relentless torrent of the rain striking my umbrella is testament to the fury of the sky that lingers above my head.  The sound of the rain hitting my umbrella nullifies the background noise of cars driving pass, of children screaming and shouting as they walk to school.

Just the white noise of the rain is all I hear, filling my ears like liquid.

Ahead of me is the bus stop, a shelter for those who have no protection against the rain, hiding from the sky as it follows its victims; picking and choosing its next one.  The rain was still intent on attacking the bus shelter with everything it had - the windows dripping wet, the rain drops smashing into the glass, only to be smashed themselves.

Still, all I hear is the white noise of the rain.  It soothes me, blurring out everything else in the world, allowing me to be with my thoughts.  Staring out to the field opposite the bus stop, I see the short-lived life of the rain drops falling from the sky, colliding with the first object they meet.

Cars drive past, ignorant to the rain smashing into them - their windscreen wipers moving back and forth, swiping the water off the glass.  Cyclists cycle by indifferent to what the rain does to them - all everyone cares about is getting to work, to get on with their lives; if the rain does not care about them, why should they care about the rain?

As usual, time saunters by, exploring only what is in front of it, caring about only itself and where it is heading towards.  Many a people track time, but it doesn't care - it knows everyone follows it.

The bus arrives, laden full of passengers, carrying them to their destinations; helping them get on with their business.  Inside, the white noise of the rain is dulled, still there but diminished - allowing the noise of life a chance to be heard...

Until I plug my earphones in and begin listening to Fall Out Boy, retreating to my own little world.

The End

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