Somewhere over the rooftops, you can see the blue sky, cloud like white shadows disappear into cotton candy puffs. Somewhere across the rooftops, down into the market, a fruit vendor lays out his colourful fruit, singing along to the calypso music thumping from the minibus. Somewhere, just beyond the rooftops, where the natural habour sits, with houses nestled in the trees, the fishermen prepare to go out to sea. Somewhere across the rooftops, a young boy pulls on the ropes sending the chimes of the church bells echoing through the city. Somewhere beyond the rooftops, school children chatter as they walk the narrow streets. Overlooking the rooftops, I daydream about the beach, the rolling waves, the scent of salt, the jumping fish, the glitter of the sun against the water. Somewhere across the rooftops, paradise waits for every man.
Rainy days are made for walking on water
For listening to the rain hitting the galvanized roof
For day dreaming to the rhythm on your umbrella
For splashing in puddles as you walk
Oh yes that fun is not reserved for kids only
For watching the remnants of a rainbow float in a pothole
Smiling at the heavens when lightening cracks the sky
Creating a lyric to the blast of thunder
Sleeping but being aware of the wind howling through the house
The scent of smoke as Mommy Charles lit the coals in the coal pot
Sitting under a tree watching the raindrops darken the red mud
Falling asleep to the sound of rain on banana tree leaves
If I had it to do all over, I may have stayed on the island, live in a small village, eat tropical fruit in the early morning, swim in the crystal blue ocean at mid day, watch the sun set in late afternoon, get lost in the full moon, fall asleep to the rain hitting the tin roof, fall in love and stay in love, run barefoot through the banana plantations, dance to the sound of Obeah drums, if i could do it all again, if i could do it all again
The best days are the days when you lay in bed, listening, waiting. Someone yells at a child in the village, birds fly overhead, a car backfires on the highway, loud music from somewhere. Then you hear it, the first thunder, it rumbled across the sky sounding like a hungry old man’s stomach. Then you hear the wind, whistling through the tropical trees, mangoes fell out of the trees, a small hard object bounces off the window paine. Someone running outside, trying to get home before the downpour. And then it happens, the faint sound of a drizzle hitting the galvanize roof, thunder roars, the wind picks up. Darkness covers the village as the gray skies rolls in. The rain is heavy now, pounding off the galvanize roof. Oh that sweet melody, soothing, comforting. You want to stay away to hear it, lose yourself in the rhythm. But your eye lids becomes heavy, and you slowly drift off, the sound of the rain hitting the roof fades and you fall into a dream were you are walking in the warm tropical downpour.