tangible newness about the world.
The lingering droplets that still fall from the sky
are a telltale sign of what has passed,
but the invigorated grass is proof
of what has already been made new.
My sneakers meet the pavement,
sending tiny sprays of water up my legs.
I breath in the cool, damp air,
my eyes scanning the now muddy fields.
Hiding under the eves of the porch,
I was not washed by the sky's tears,
but now I can be part of the bathed earth.
If only there were a heavenly rain
that could touch the soul;
clean old wounds of hurt,
wash off the dust of fear.
Then maybe, just maybe, we could walk
and not droop our shoulders
under the weight of what this life holds.
For now, I can only touch the wet ground,
see the reaching leaves, breathe the moist air.
And as I run, chasing after the clouds
that refreshed the earth, I imagine that
after the rain, there is a quiet, bright,
tangible newness about me.
:-( :-)
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