The Longest Day of Summer

A leap year and the longest day of summer but even Noah would have shaken his head and gone back under the covers as the droplets clattered down. The dark shoulders of light coats showed umbrellas that had gone up too late. Shoppers hid under overhangs and awnings as if washed from the roads, thrust to the river banks by the rushing flood-water. The gutters quickly quenched their thirst and spat back unwanted water. Bus tickets, leaves and Mcdonalds packaging gurgled down the streets, the torrent dribble of a city giant.

It was 3 o'clock and I watched as the street light in front of me switched silently on. It illuminated the rising stream that was flowing just below the level of the pavement, heading downhill towards the pockmarked sea. A river often cleanses, a river can wipe away but most of all a river changes. The flow narrowed and spread as if inhaling and exhaling while it raced on. It carried boats. I wished I was aboard; an owl or a pussycat in a pea-green apple pie box, moving, changing.

I stood still, aside from the occasional shudder and the flitting motion of my eyes. Cold snakes slithered down my back and soaked into the top of my jeans. I could see both ways from here, at the top of the shallow hill; where I'd been and where I was going, both were empty of people. I wanted to run out into the rain.

A runcible tramp came up to me and asked me for change. I told him he was asking the wrong guy.