Good morning…
A dear friend watched our dogs while we were vacationing as a family near Banff, Canada. Sharing photos, she texted, “Hanging on the porch this morning! Please soak in every last drop of that cool weather while you can. Summer has definitely arrived here in ATL! We miss you.”
At 5:30 am in Canada and 7:30 am in Atlanta, I returned a picture from our rental porch. “Good morning. I am first up again today, brewing coffee. This is the sky with temps in the 50s right now. I love the fresh, cloudy air, with evidence of last night’s rain.”
“Rain.” The word lingered in the air as I opened my inbox to meet this poem.
******
After Many Weeks of Sun
I woke to rain,
in love with rain,
and the rain made its
soft rain music on the roof
and I listened to rain
in the rain-soaked dark
until my dreams were rain
and my waking was rain
and the morning was rain, rain, rain—
scent of rain in my lungs,
shine of rain in my eyes,
and the green song of rain in the grass,
and I gave my whole self to the rain
not thinking of anything else I had lost
only rain in my thoughts,
only rain until I thought of you
and then somehow you were the rain.
—Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
******
Then my own thoughts trickled onto my blank journal page.
I wonder, might my own worries become rain?
Plus my grudges and my expectations.
Might the unknown ahead become rain,
watering to sprout exactly what is needed?
A favorite verse, it rains down now from above.
“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly” (Matthew 11:28-30, MSG).
Riding the unforced rhythms of grace, the early morning air, it pitter-patters into a song.
…Sue…
