A Desert-Rat Never Stops Loving a Rainy Day




Up North in September

the rain arrives in wind-whipped sheets

and tidal waves transformed into beaded droplets

streaming from the eaves, small torrents

pouring from rain gutters, and solitary drips

falling from fence lines and railings –

a percussive symphony on the roof,

the music of ten thousand rain sticks.


I close my eyes and savor the sounds

that will soon be replaced

by the whispers of wet snow

falling in cottontail clumps and fragile single flakes

forming small heaps that become a blanket of hush

draped across my yard.


In spring the blanket begins to unravel,

drip by drip, those drips becoming

notes in my hymn of hope

for signs that winter again

is releasing its hold.


- Carolyn G. Healy

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