Today it rains. Il pleut.
Interestingly enough in French Il pleut can also mean “he cries” or is it “he is crying/weeping”? At any rate, I think the French have it right … for the rain often makes people a little misty-eyed.
Strangely enough, not me, not today.
Perhaps it is because I have another poem to share with you. Not mine this time. Mine the other day was a very first draft … and we all know about first drafts, don’t we?
The drops, the spaces between,
the times when it does not
When it blows, storms, rages,
when it lies down in quiet pools.
when it loses its luster and begins the long descent.
In all its facets, birthing, growing, yearning,
Who is God now?
Far and near.
Here, not here.
Always, all ways.
Although I no longer have a faith community that I meet with regularly … I find this comforting.
Let me know what feelings this poem evokes in you, if you like. Thanks for visiting.