It’s cold today. And the light is watery — rain-drenched. The birds huddle by the feeder, their wings flicking water. And I celebrate central heat, sweaters (especially cashmere!) and a roof that doesn’t leak…

Mostly? I celebrate a life where I can write about rain dispassionately — where its lack or plentitude either one is not a life-breaker. And where my beginner’s heart can just feel watered…:)

Rain fugue~

 

I am grateful for the wings of birds.

For the cold light that seems to fall

away from the climb of geese,

who leave us to fly where light

nests in green grass, and does not catch

in seed heads bent beneath this morning’s

rime of dew.

 

I celebrate the greedy wren.

Who labours at a seed & suet bell

silenced by the weight of brown wings

and the jagged music of crows circling.

In the grey sky their silhouettes open

into darkness.

 

I am grateful for the way time slows,

its rhythmic minute hand tracing

a fluid arc, as if now was the centre point

in a compass, and migratory birds

drew a circle around this moment.

As if you and I were inside, safe.

As if nothing will ever change.

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