In a dry land, a morning rain brings on an early smile
as the wet birds are calling between the drops
peace need not stir to leave, from this house
the sounds of falling drops and dripping runoff mingle
and the old ones are speaking even as she calls to me now
- the great emptiness softened briefly by the gentle rain
the earth is washing like a healthy, purring cat
and I count the blessing in every single drop,
storms that come with first light define a special day
I hear as drops plop up among the leaves in a nearby tree
A part of the rain chant known by a thousand generations
She comes in fits and starts with a fog, then perhaps a bit
of hail
Raindrops ripple across the puddles and it is all,
just as simple as it seems
Slowly it grows lighter but there remains a calm and
easygoing dimness
The moss soaks up the moisture growing spongy, soft and
green
What falls stimulates the earth to exude a misty cloud of
peace
I remain in silence, engrossed within this quiet symphony
This rain knows neither here nor how in its wet and simple
certainty
The mist off of the lake arises, to greet the lowering
clouds
The wind stays resting, somewhere far away
And here once again comes the hope that we might yet, find our way
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