Morning Rain


When I wake in my bed

On mornings dark with cloud cover

And hear the drip-ticking of rain off the gutters

Onto porch planks and potted plants below,

Relief washes over me in soft sheets.


I have come to know water

As that neutral element which calms

A world otherwise frenetic,

Charged with energies

Too fast and flared for the good of all.


What pause a downpour brings,

Permitting the writer to write…

The lover to love…

The artist “to art”…

The thinker to think…

The being to be.


Imagine a world where

We complain when it rains

That we might have to be

More still inside ourselves

And listen to the deeper

Comings and goings of our hearts,

Leaking their way into our consciousness.


The words – the peace – comes more easily

On days when the sun does not light us up like matches.

–   Kendallauren Heath


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