In the rainfall the water is cold, wet, political

sloshing sounds in squeaky shoes have drowned together

for it is all memory now–

dry pages in dry books, clothes and crackers in rucksack packed

thoughtfully with some electronics

moisture absorbing components

that would become landfill with saturation

It began a distant cloud moving a little fast to evolve

a classic mystic union of cloud and ground

transforming occasionally to low ceiling fury of scuds 

Many  days before had formed to precipitate nothing

except lost time worrying about the rain

putting off for another day

the journey, the paint job

that washed away when the clouds formed

universally

horizon to horizon in sky become a province of gray

Image via Wikipedia

With return to powers of constant downpour

 experienced before

air vehicles rise above the world of clouds

somewhere else the sun shines.