Rain, Just After Solstice

 

Spring rain is playing timpani on salal
along the fence. It taps the skylight
with insistent fingers, looking for
a way in, as I listen to its ancient melody.
Across the street, the Japanese cherry and forsythia
have donned their frothy spring dresses.
Their time to shine goes by so fast,
like weeks, like years, like life,
here and gone before we tie up
all the ends. (Some ends don't ever
want to tie. We leave them lie.)
On Rhodo Hill, deep magenta and purple blooms
look like the ball gowns of antebellum debutantes
swishing downhill on their way to a soiree.

Spring rain, gentle, to nourish and not break
the buds so close to opening. Let my heart
stay tender,  when the world lets me down
and everything feels wrong.
Let me listen to the rain's one note
and hear a beginner's song.

Inspired by "Rain, New Year's Eve" by Maggie Smith. The italicized lines are hers.