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,

Yet again the eaves are drip-drip-dropping, and thunder throbs above the clouds. Rain scent falls, hushes the neighbour children, breathes its sweetness in at my open windowpane. Pattering droplets sing their song slowly today, and my heart is glad. Glad for slow rain to cool the day. For dark clouds brooding over the mountains, so I might see their creases and lines differently, like an ever-changing face on those long-standing rocks. If you ask me,