Rain’s essence
is in the sound
heard from an open window:
thick splashing,
heavy drops
saturating between
strands of long grass,
the sound of satisfaction
itself.
Soggy leaves lie drenched,
like forgotten cereal
in absorbed milk
mushing underfoot.
A dancing line
of colorful domes,
umbrella mushroom caps,
process up and down
sheltering those beneath.
Their whirling colors
dazzle the landscape,
the grey landscape,
grey, green and dark brown.
Back home
the Earth cried
for the rain,
desperately grateful
when it finally came.
Nothing wasted,
all rivulets of life
absorbed,
pulled up in the roots of
chaparral, yellow grass,
old oak and redwood.
Rain is different here,
the world floods,
roads become rivers,
your feet drown,
your vision blurred,
your thoughts obscured.
Back home
mists rose from the rain
entangling themselves
in redwood branches
turning the world
into a spun web
of mystery.
My sight becomes
Green and silver-white.
I am desperately grateful
for the sound
of satisfaction.
Becca Tarnas 