Ode To Rain

I love the smell—
earth rising to meet the sky.
I feel the touch—
each drop, a fingertip
from time’s first breath.

I taste it on my lips,
metallic, wild, alive.
I see the rain,
falling like truth
we once knew by heart,
then somehow forgot.

Hard rain,
pounding into the earth—
nourishing, stirring,
moving her bones
and mine.

Soft rain,
barely a whisper,
a lullaby for the restless soul.

I love the sound
upon a tin roof,
in the hush of busy streets,
across open fields,
beneath forest canopies—
and with crickets,
and with birds,
singing as if in prayer.

Rain at sunset—
gold dissolving into gray.
Rain at dawn—
a hymn too quiet to name.
Rain at dusk—
like memory returning
without apology.

I have laid in rain.
Danced within it.
Walked through it—
as though meeting myself
for the first time.

I am one with the rain.
It moves through me,
restores me,
reminds me:

I am not only the calm—
I am the storm within.