'Coney Rain

Good morning again Coney-heads and Whoville-ites
         Well, It’s raining in the upper highlands of Almost Maryland again this morning. It's a different kind of rain...unlike the last one that was exuberant and joyous, bouncing down the trees and filling the creek; this one is more like....3 a.m. in the city and there's no one else on the street. You have nowhere to go, no way to get there..., and no one waiting for you when you do get there.
         It is the hiss of taxi tires as it speeds off into the night leaving you as the only one left on the street. This is the kind of rain that you feel soaking up through the soles of your shoes, through your soul into your very being, and just leaves you wet, and cold. It makes you understand what alone really is and you feel for those stuck out in it ...with nowhere to go...and no way to get there.
         Good ole rain; so many different facets to it. This one evokes images of tired, worn, line etched faces of older people; standing in doorways to try to stay dry and hold on to whatever semblance of strength and dignity they may have retained.
         This is not the thunderous, pouring into the earth and watering the crops rain; this is the early Sunday morning on the city streets with no one around and no one anywhere to care whether you're around or not, kind of rain. The kind of rain that the low paid workers slog through to get from one soul eating job to the next to earn a few dollars for food for their child, or a doctor visit or electricity, usually one or the other, never all three.
         This rain is the one that washes the trash along the streets and gutters along with the hopes and dreams of many, young and old alike, that have been forced to face the reality that...this is as good as it's going to get for them.
         This is a lonely rain. It sings a song of sorrow and alone; of desperate people in an uncaring world faced with unimaginable decisions. Go on? Give up? Just stand here and get wet? What is the difference? In the end, it is all the same and we are all the same. This rain will wet the graves of the rich and poor alike and leave them only wet.
         Otherwise mountain maniacs, life goes on as usual here above the fall line. Folks just trying to get by and eke whatever joy they can from daily life. This rain...it raises a mist up the ridges of the mountains and fills the valleys with clouds. The crick is roaring down at the bottom of the hill, singing of its travels across oceans and cities and deserts to end up where it began, the clouds.
         It's Friday again and a lot of work a day folks are looking forward to a couple days of rest and time to catch up on grass mowing and gutter cleaning and preparing for the first cold blast of winter that will change this rain into “this dam snow”. I look forward to that, when a fluffy covering of white crystals blankets the land hiding all of the ugliness. It seems so peaceful and serene, you can hear sounds, smell smells from further away, and there is a feeling of peace on the land.
         Enjoy this day pilgrim, whether it be rain or sleet or hot sun; you will never get this one again.
Love to all from the Allegany Front and Ole Reddog Gotti, Guido and Chuck.