The Rain has come . . . the rain is here

Tired, and weary the rain has found me tonight. Rain that cleans, rain that falls freely upon the street, and upon my head.  Falling on, and running down my neck, trickling past my ears.  Rain heralding a new season’s approach.  Soon the leaves with turn and fall, sodden by autumnal rains.  The rain will return.  The rain will always come.  Healthy and clean.  Running in torrents thru grates, and gutters.

 

The rain has come.

 

 

 

 

The rain is here.

 

 

We, the rain and I.  We talk, we listen, we breath.  We sigh, and we smile.  Seasons change, we part and we reunite. Steadfast above all seasons – the rain always greets me.

 

Wet hair, damp clothes, fresh air.

 

 

 

I walk and wander and wonder in it’s presence.  The solitude one enjoys with the rain, like all forms of solitude is best and most fully enjoyed when it is shared. 

 

Shared solitude is a deeper magic, and that which grows out of it is oft stronger than the gardeners themselves realize. 

 

 

And so I grow in the rain.  I walk, I talk, I pray, I listen.

 

 

 

I think, and I feel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I ponder and I pray.

 

 

The rain is here.

 

The rain has come.