The Rain

"While I sat there a ragged man came --
Bummed a coffee, talked awhile
Told me stories full of wonder --
Left me laughing like a well-loved child."
-- Bruce Cockburn, A Montreal Song


He wasn't ragged as such, but today I met a man on the train who made my day. It wasn't anything particularly special - he was singing this song to himself as we trundled home through the dark, just watching the rain scudding past the city lights, and he must have noticed me watching him in the reflection, because he turned and smiled a little self-consciously. Normally I would probably just smile and look away, but something about rain and music and trains brings out the best (or at least the Touchstone, as it were) in me: so I commented on his good voice and his good choice of song, and we talked about nothing for two or three minutes until he got off, a stop before me.

So, despite the fact that we probably live within a few miles of one another, listen to the same music, recognise the same self-deprecating mannerisms, I doubt we'll ever see or hear from one another again. But it got me thinking a little bit, as chance encounters usually do - maybe there's more to praying for rain than just water.