After weeks of drought,
the rains finally came,
steady and soft.
I sat back and listened to
the soft tap of droplets
showering the windowpane,
the white noise of water boiling
in the kettle,
the gentle creak
of the rocking chair,
whispery gusts of wind,
the hum of the fridge,
the purr of the cat,
the turn of a page,
the distant whir of a jet in flight,
fading into the sound of the rain,
the delicious,
life-giving
rain.
This is not
what my friend heard
in North Carolina,
for this same storm system
that brought me sweet,
life-giving rain
wore a wild mood
when it reached her
rushing in a raging torrent,
a damaging, deadly downpour.
In my back yard,
when the rain ended,
the renewed trees dripped,
sated and peaceful.
Birds warbled and chortled,
branch to branch,
tree to tree,
a clear, world-washed song.
When the rain ended
in my friend’s back yard,
trees lay uprooted,
muddy floods of river water
swirled and swallowed
tangled branches.
I have to believe that birds
still sang from the tip-top
of whatever withstood the storm—
peaked roofs,
stubbornly strong trees,
a post, a pole,
a precariously tilted sign.
May the birds always sing
their ancient wisdom,
their song of courage,
comfort,
and hope.
-kh-
Nurture peace, cultivate kindness, and carry the calm.
Nature of the week:
Shadow of the week:
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Text and photos © 2024 Karyn Henley. All rights reserved.
