Grass yellowed and dry as a brush.
End of summer. Dry creek bed. Fires.
Only haiku rain. Short. Not a story,
but a brief observation: wetting the surface,
ground like concrete, nothing for the roots.
The rain has made the day longer
than twenty-four hours. The air is thick.
We walk slower. Clockworks struggle a bit
to advance. Time and space bend me
and this 5/14’s of a rainy sonnet.
I was thinking about an Einstein quote while watching the rain falling. Albert said, “Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour. Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That’s relativity.”
That inspired today’s ronka poem.
Sons grow up and leave their fathers
to become fathers and perhaps have sons.
Child is the father of the man,
said another poet, his heart leaping up.
Five days of rain, then, a rainbow.