The three dry months meant no floods.
We made our own rain each evening
for flowers and vegetables, top-coating the soil
with a wet darker brown, but never
deep-soaking enough to really change the world.
Tag rain
haiku rain
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.
Studies in Relativity On A Summer Rainy Day
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.
Far From Here
Outside is rain. No snow. I’m thankful.
It’s getting harder to shovel the walkways.
Lately, winter seems longer than three months.
But tonight, I’d like to be snowed-in,
warm fire, a cabin far from here.
Writing the Day 