Then:

Water streams down my smiling face, my bare feet slap against the blacktop. The cuffs of my jeans the darkest of blue, drenched from the endless puddles I’ve walked through. The Lightning flashes in the blackness and a trickle runs down my back, raising the level of excitement, the fun, the rain.

Now:

Cars drive through the puddles, sending a cascade of water on my slacks. My tattered blue umbrella-two of its spires bent and rusty-assist the water onto my pressed shirt. My rage rising with each drop of rain, my briefcase bombarded by the wind-comes undone. Papers float, just out of reach landing in the cold wet street.

Somewhere it all changed, rain ceased to be entertainment and became a nuisance. What was once a welcome friend, a refreshing play time, bogs me down drenches my work, my life and engages my rage.

I wish the rain would wash away the taint of man and return me to the time rain was a joy.