I hear tires     swishing

On wet pavement

As rain falls on the street

Below my window

Their gentle sounds soothe me

Into sleep


A foghorn calls warnings

From its station on the water

Off a Lake Michigan shoreline

An urgent voice

Repeating     repeating     repeating

Through heavy rains

Through dense fog

This foghorn of my childhood

Whose language

I learned to love early on

Will never forget


Rain is on its way

Over a meadow of rocks

Of tall wavy grasses

Across from my cabin

At summer camp

It advances towards me

Like an army

Slow steady relentless

Then pours itself

Onto the cabin roof

A hundred kettle drums

Pound over my head

Reverberating through every bone

In my body

Oh     I long for Mother

I want to go home



Many rains since

Have come     have left their imprints

On my mind

Their sounds     the smell of wet earth

A day with no sun

Only clouds hanging low

Different shades of gray

That change as rain stops

Begins again

Sheets of rain sweeping down a street

Across an empty field

As wind pushes them along

I visualize rain

Dropping on the surface of a pond

A lake     the ocean itself

Hear rain pound against my windows

Pray rain     think rain

Give thanks for rain

Silently call to my friend

The sycamore tree

Call to every living thing

That sustains itself

From the earth

Hang on     Hang on

The rains will come

They will     come

Hang on

Hang on


*photo image: gemini