Ode to Rain

Rain falls upon the streets in January,
its footsteps pattering upon the sidewalks
as it goes for an early walk,
 
passed by rain
completing its morning exercise,
running along crevices and storm drains.
 
In the afternoon, it seats itself for lunch
in concave chairs beneath outstretched umbrellas
and doesn't wait for service;
 
it serves itself a glass of water
and nurses a light soup,
later washing its own dishes.
 
Its mind wanders, watching the sparrows
bathing in standing rain,
as the scent of petrichor floods the senses.
 
Rain taps the table to signal for check
and returns to work without paying,
places its jacket on the rack
 
and wipes its feet on the carpet
just below; a few droplets
still glisten in the light
 
through the adjacent blinds.
There, it cleans the windows,
poring over every blemish,
 
and occasionally steals glances outside
at the rain gripping hood brims and umbrellas
as it hurries home that evening and
 
having misplaced the key,
knocks on the door and the window
and finally is welcomed in.