Softly, the rain
descends, puddling
in the darkly
glistening street,
pausing to quench
the thirsting roof
before dripping,
a muffled sighing,
to the ground.
Wind chimes stir,
and the cows
are suddenly home,
winding along
that narrow path
where the sun
lately streamed.
I stir, savoring
quilted warmth,
softness of pillow,
go drifting off
again like a puff
of milkweed.
© 2000
(originally published in St. Anthony Messenger)
There's something so soothing about the music of a gentle rain. It cradles us as we drift between sleep and that which becomes reality. I've tried to capture that feeling in this little piece.
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