Sitting here. Watching. Umbrellas nervously clutched. Anxious looks skyward lead to worried thoughts. How fast is it approaching? So hard to tell with all the facades in the way. Fingers reaching from all around skyward hold workers in their grasp.
Then it begins with a violent and rude outburst. Thunderous roaring rumbles and echoes down here. Facades reverb like large tall drums, magnifying the effect. Flash bulbs of a God size precede the roar and accompany the drops. People scatter, shielding themselves with papers, books or their hands.
The sounds and sights start to abate now. The pace of falling slows. From my window on the street, I experience none of their panic or hurriedness. My rain coat sits unused in my bag. Umbrella, dry. Waiting this out is easy and refreshing. I am a houseplant, with a window to their world.