It was like those seeds
in the desert that wait years
to germinate—all they need
is one good rain.
–from “In Harsh Times” by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
The sky holds no clouds,
the leaves, no drops of dew.
It has been weeks, maybe even years
since soft water has fallen
in these thirsty corners,
so long I can’t remember what it feels like
to be drenched and giddy, swimming,
floating on your back, splashing,
savoring the sweet abundance
as if it will last forever.
Maybe I never knew the quench, only the thirst.
Could be it wasn’t even a thirst
nothing that vital for life,
more like a want, a hope, a hankering
for a new kind of rain to fall
from some otherworldly place.
Not of here or there,
but a where I’ve never been
only heard about, seen signs of
like cars that carry snow down from the mountains.
It could be a bloom underground
maybe a mushroom that has lived its whole life
as a memory of what hasn’t happened yet,
just waiting in my imagination for
one good rain
to set it free.
maybe a mushroom that has lived its whole life
as a memory of what hasn’t happened yet,
just waiting in my imagination for
one good rain
to set it free.
way to bend time, amiga. Let it rain, let it rain, let it rain.
You are the rain in this one, as you so often are. xo
As I read this today it is lightly raining at last with a threat of heavy rain tomorrow.
Great writing my friend. ❤️
Such a good feeling, yes? Thanks for the kind words ..xo