R A Ruadh

A drought of equinox

Month after month

the parched fields bared

their barrenness to the sky

only dead grasses left

with nothing

to drink

Lightning without rain

dug deep into remains

of wetlands and marshes

wandering and rising up

for gasps

of air

Last night it finally rained

every sprinkle and drop falling

to be absorbed with grateful greed

the soil drinking down

to desperate

roots

There were no puddles

no mud or softness underfoot

although the riverbed meandered

less rocky and with a little bit

more water as a sort of

promise

And somehow the maples

still glory in red and orange against

the cobalt sky as I drive down the road

drinking in the autumn afternoon

which against all the odds

survives

Promise of rain

Once again

rain was promised

Never more than 80% chance

meteorologists hedging their bets

preferring 30s or 40s

so as not to disappoint

I’d ceased to expect

any pattering on the roof

Then as I sat up reading

it slowly invaded my consciousness

a scatter of static above my head

gathering into rolling drops

So wondrous it was

I could not sleep

Slowly the wind picked up

the showers became real rainfall

and I could hear the thirsty ground

swallowing the sky

I had to see it

so went down and outside

The rainfall cooled down my neck

as I lifted my face to drink the clouds

slowly the earth began to breathe

joyful dampness into the night

A promise made

and kept