Rain

I live another day

to see the raindrops line up to hang from beneath the gutter,

each one holding its own bubbled reflection of this world it dropped into,

each one heavy with desire to let go, to continue downward and complete their cycle.

It’s such a natural thing to fall.

Gravity beckons, promising to make it easy,

yet they cling till they shake.

I hear rain falling like a stream rushing over polished stones.

An encroaching fog grays the capes and cliff, the forested mountain, ocean and sky.

Mist obscuring this majestic view pulls the mind inward,

behind the veil of what was cheery blue skies and a forest in communion,

and all but the now trickling rain is still.

Quiet.