Rainsound

Soft, feminine,

it tickles my ears and

alights in my mind

like a sparrow looking for sugar.

 

I am a leaf catching single drops,

drinking again after a long, dry week.

 

The symphony of slippery sliding down tree trunks

picks up in a crescendo of crowding

increases in tempo and pitch

as a building wind.

 

I spill the extra over the edges of my cupped surface.

I have thirsted for so long and

let them go with ease, knowing

more will come when I need to drink again.

 

Rain is silent

with no need of aural expression.

The sound emits from its meeting myriad surfaces,

alive and inert.

 

Silver threads of drops at speed

chase one another on their journey to earth,

gravity the glue between the drop and

the leaf it is bound to.

 

Each drop is promised to its Beloved.

It falls, falls, drunk with attraction,

landing on a slightly tilted surface and silently sliding,

caressing a path, leaving behind its own substance,

a silver glow of wet.

 

That sound is not the rain.

It is the rejoicing of each surface

welcoming home its lover,

the piece of water that annihilates itself gladly.

 

It has thrown itself out of the sky,

fallen into the unknown,

trusting that it will land in the perfect place

as always.

 

Upon landing, it is finished.

The taught surface explodes and

water fuses with leaf, enters, integrated, merges

cell to cell, molecule to molecule in a holy union.

The sound of rain is the sound of Life’s longing for itself.

7.14.12