THE KISS OF WETNESS

The rain has fallen, finally.

It’s midnight, and the promised downpour has arrived soaking my exposed
garden bringing manna from the bottomless skies.
I receive blessings from my imagination - I’m writing again!
I’m out in the conservatory listening to the rattle of raindrops falling
through the trees, onto the green-ribbed roof that floods my cloistered cabin.

I feel curiously alert, ready for action –
yet content to rest in the folds of reveries.
I dwell between a call to arms and the resignation of success.
I’m lost to the love-call of silent instruction.
I feel happy, sad & thankful as the woes of the world filter through
my heart with saturating completeness.

The discordant splatter of the drumming rain brings joys,
and sadness’ flooding through my body’s pulsating veins.
I look out across my yard to the bubbling puddles and dancing
pellets popping up off the concrete flagstones.
The newly turned sod sucks up the rays of droplets leaping
off and on the leaves that hold the kiss of wetness.

It’s a day to move proudly onto broad shoulders,
new-age deals, great expectations and chances
that fall like the pattern raindrops - bruised and
resplendent. Yes. It’s a day to contemplate the NOW.
To lick the wounds of the past and take a long draft of
life-giving wetness into the future – drenched with inspiration!