Spring is well underway, and with it the twin delights of warm sun and easy-falling rain. In just a few weeks, balmy summer arrives. Here’s a poem about our seasonal and still-available childlike pleasures.
There’s a rain arriving from the mysterious west
it will patter against the dog-faced mimosa leaves
stream down along the asphalt shingles
splash into your wide and upturned mouth.
It’s the very same as the childhood rains
that happily soaked you as you ran barefoot
down the hissing sidewalks
to the muddy schoolyard
where seasoned earth caressed your feet
warm drops trickling down your original face
rivulets along the skin of you naked to the waist
and the morning passed without explanation.
Cardinals chirruped in the dripping maples
young squirrels cavorted in the loamy yards
crows called out their predictions from building tops
and the rain kept falling and you did not retreat.
That all-day shower is here again
inviting you back into the quieting alleys
nourishing the bold hollyhocks that delight you
awaiting only your upside smile, your carefree affirmation.