The wind howls;
People cower
As doors sigh then clang shut,
Metal latches loud and angry;
We feel safe indoors, unaware
That time thus drains our alkaline train
Of thoughts battered with each gusty grey sky
Colliding water and heat, steaming brains.
Yet not all storms are tears, pain, fears;
In years they can grow crops of stronger
Rain, a cleansing rest:
The mud, the Flood, the waking
lungs, expanded chest —
Close your eyes, open hands,
Breathe in, listen, exhume
The tension of excess thought —
Imagine
That breeze and showers whisper ‘Hush’
And empty cloistered air, stale office rush —
Inhale again the deep, damp, lush soil —
So much beyond the walls, havens from toil;
That heaven can be touched, smelt, seen
Now go, go, echo the chorus
If not for you, for us
Run, run, run
Through, not in the rain,
For true flesh is waterproof
_____
Passionate about art, outdoor adventure, and world travel, J.D. Grubb has lived chapters in the United States and Europe, and intends to explore every corner of the world. He currently works in northern California as a distance running coach, freelance writer and editor, and recently published his debut novel, There was Music. He was raised in a Protestant-influenced, non-denominational household, and has come to cherish the wisdom of Christian thinkers from every background, West to East.
Image: copyright J.D. Grubb Photography
Leave a Reply