On Watching Rainfall

For reasons unknown, the train stopped.

It was evening, and I was heading home. The day had been dreary — dark clouds, winds, periods of heavy rain followed by mist. Were it not for the overcast skies and the rainfall, the day might’ve been brilliant; temperatures hovered near seventy, even this morning.

When the train arrived, I took a seat on the last car, opened up my bag, and pulled out the mystery novel I started reading yesterday. Rain began to fall against the car’s windows.

A few miles south of the office, south even of the Baltimore Beltway, the train crosses a lake.

For reasons unknown, the train stopped on the bridge.

Rain fell, and I watched as raindrops made concentric circles of splashes in the water. A light breeze kicked up some waves, giving the appearance of some chop.

We sat there for three or four minutes, and then the train moved again.

Perhaps there was a herd of deer standing on the tracks. I don’t know.

It was peaceful, sitting on a bridge, watching rainfall.

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