Lots of places now are wishing for rain – a sky full of rain to cool tongues, to stop forests from burning, to reinvigorate flowers and fields. Rain will surely come at the appointed time, and we will briefly be grateful for what it does, but it will be too late for some. Like all things on earth, nature blesses, though it never promise perfection as today’s poem hints.
I was there when the sky trembled,
and clouds moved like sailboats on
the coattails of the wind, and sheets of
water unfurled from the sky, and the
vapor air grew soft, the earth hissed,
roots had their fill, and harsh, dry leaves
glistened and birds of every kind began to
sing like they’ve never sung, of that which
stands for all things, even for those buds
that could not flower.