It started with a few taps,
large splats on our skylight,
but with that came a distant
and deep thunder, that rolling
kind you feel as much as hear,
so we closed ourselves outside,
put our feet up, toes touching
on a shared footrest as we sat,
expectant and ready for the show.
Each minute the clouds
inched themselves into new
formations, a graceful and slow dance,
a painter’s swirl of cobalt
blue, titanium white, and every shade
of gray imaginable. The rain fell,
first in the sporadic splatters
of large drops that plop, then
the falling of sheets, and finally
the ebbing into mist. Before it was over,
the blues deepened into purples,
the whole earth smelled new,
and we were up and dancing,
the setting sun our twinkle lighting,
the retreating thunder and gentle rhythm
of spring rain the only music
needed.
—C.L. Fisher, May 2020
Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.
Poetic Meanderings 