This is a reprint from three years ago. If you do the math that means my littlest one in this poem is off in school, leaving me to watch the storm without her. Oh how I already miss her wide eyes discovering our world.
Storm Watchers
We sat on the lattice-back patio chair
You and I
To watch a storm
Because in the desert, rain is a spectator sport
Water spattered on the rocks
Tapping rhythms
You sang the alphabet song
Somewhere around H-I-J-K
The thunder clapped directly above our heads
Like you had the fast-moving gray clouds for an audience
Your eyebrows snapped up like rubber bands
“What was that?” Your shock sent up a hand to cover your mouth.
“Thunder.” I explain.
You still scanned the yard and the soggy grass
Looking for a culprit
A gust of wind pushed the rain horizontal
And I knew our moment on the edge of the storm was over.
You clung to me with your four-year-old arms and legs as we scrambled inside.
We stood behind the glass door,
Watched our dusty patio chair get drenched
And laughed.
**
Live in the desert long enough and one rainy day can yield far too many lines of poetry...and it's just not the same without a child's wonder!
**
What a gift, this rain in the desert
For my thirsty and sun-baked soul.
I keep checking the window to watch the steady, heavy rain
Like I've never seen it before
Soaking into the soil and pooling in places
So dry I thought they could never be wet yet
Water is everywhere now and even my ears though dry feel wet inside as I soak up the sound of roof-pounding, shower-streaming water.
9/9/13
And when I'm done waxing poetic, even though there is no sunny day here, I still feel like a little clearwater (for the record this was wAAy before my time but you know you want to sing the chorus!)
