*from One With Willows, copyright 2019 by Joan Myles*
When the rains come at last,
there is no mistaking what will happen.
One person uncovers the cistern
he dug years ago against thirst.
Another brings out buckets
to place beneath the leaky roof.
Oh, let me be the one
who opens windows and unlocks the door,
who presses her face against the screen,
inhaling the mist like life itself.
Let me gather the children
to trace raindrop outlines
upon the window glass,
to clap and dance with joy
for gardens yet to be
and for promises kept.
4 thoughts on “Rainy Season”
Like the descriptive way you wrote this.
Thanks, so sweet to hear from you!
This was the perfect morning for me to read your poem, “Rainy Season.” I woke up to the sound of stead rain falling on the roof, splashing on the sidewalks and from the rainspouts and filling up the 5-gallon buckets on the patio. I collect the raindrops in buckets so I can water my plants with it in the days ahead. This is the perfect morning for loving the rainfall. I love the imagery in this poem. Thanks for sharing it, today.
So sweet to find you here, Lynda, thanks for dropping by, and for your comment!