Autumn Rain

Thunderstorms were frightening to a youngster growing up in rural Southern Illinois. They seemed so packed with fury, so unpredictable as they lashed out, leaving so much damage in their wake.

But rain, particularly a gentle rain at night, was a different matter.

I learned to listen to its comforting cadence against the windows or on the roof, to hear the music it contained. Sometimes it was like a whisper. Sometimes a Saturday night hoedown.

But it was my kind of music. I loved going to sleep to it ... waking up to it ... or just lying there listening to it.

We forget, sometimes, what a gentle, soothing, healing sound rain can make, especially as harsh summer days begin slowly surrendering to the cooler days and cooler nights of autumn.

This poem is about that kind of rain. It was originally published in Capper's, then in my first collection, Chance of Rain, issued by Finishing Line Press, 2003.

AUTUMN RAIN

Struggling awake

to the sound

of trees scratching

at my green roof,

I see their limbs

swaying against

rolling clouds.

Dancing lightning,

slanting drops,

steady drone

of falling water;

trees, docile now,

guiding droplets

to thirsting soil,

I turn my pillow

cool side up,

go drifting off

in this cradling

sea of sound.

© 2003

***

Today's word: hoedown

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thanks for stopping by, Southernmush. I always enjoy your kind comments ... even when it's late at night when I finally get online again and find you've paid a visit. I got off schedule just a bit last evening when ... the power suddenly went off in our neck of the woods. We learned later that a tree had fallen onto a power line in our part of town. We needed the rain, but could have done without having to scramble to find candles ... which don't seem to give off as much light as they used to. We'll try to send some rain your way, Southernmush ... but, hopefully, without the dreaded power outage.