The sky was crying; the tears rolling down stone walls, tree leaves, and streets. Shining little diamonds drowning the world in their tinkling, whispering a secret lullaby that only water can sing.
Raindrops were falling from his eyes. Drenching his face, dripping on his clothes, on the seat, on the mat. A river, vast and deep, flowing into an ocean of pain. The subdued sound of gentle waves on the broken red rock of his heart filled the car with memories and liquified emotions.
It rained the whole day. A soft, warm rain. Incessant, demanding. It merged with the endless love that flowed from his soul’s open wound and carried it to the passenger of the boat crossing the River Styx.
In loving memory of David Soul (1943 – 2024)
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