The Spectrum of Solitude

Rain drips from the dark sky

Like God is dropping inky pennies on the earth.

Little packages of life splatter,

Clatter,

Like horses hooves

Across the veranda of  Jenny's old house.  

The water surges down 

C-r-e-a-k-y 

Old drain pipes.

Bulging out the sides of  

The gutter; Bursting at the seams.

And with a  Drip.

And a Drop.  

The rain squirms its way

Into jenny's home.  

One drop falls from the ceiling.

Patters Jenny's grey, grizzly mop Of a head.

The drops increase, speeding up.  

For a moment everything is

Still...  

Then one droplet cascades down

With silent finality.

The drop catches the spectrum.

Projecting:  

Scarlet

Vermilion

Saffron

Verdigris

Aquamarine

Ultramarine

Lavender  

They're just Names in a story of science.

But names Can be pseudonyms.  

Jenny sighs into her coffee.

For thirty years she had  retreated,

To this place  

She'd inherited from her mother.  

It was nowhere,

It wasn't even on a map.  

She remembered

Her childhood, she

Always wished people

Would just leave her alone.

They didn't understand.

They didn't know,

What it was like.

To see your only friend

Leave you behind.  

She realized solitude is not great.

It drives cracks in your conscience.

Until only loneliness and

Bitterness are left.  

Abstract,

That is what you become.    

The spectrum nodded its head in understanding.

It had so many siblings.  

But never referred to as an individual.

Unique.

Always collective

Always

Oh it's the rain.  

A baby faced sun, peeks over the

Horizon

Spreading streaks of golden light.  

At Jenny's farm:  

No longer rain drips from the sky,

Like God Has run out of cash,

No more little packages of life,

Splatter.

The clattering like horses hooves

Across the veranda of  Jenny's old house  

Has ceased...

And the spectrum is silent in its solitude.