The Storm

22
Written by Morgan

The Rain

Raindrops keep falling on my head….and on the flowerbed, the fencepost, the rooftops, blowing under the eaves and around the corners; rain pummeling down in buckets, blowing in cascading torrents and sheets of water that stretch across the roadway connecting my house and the neighbors and the house down the street where I’ve never even said Hello to anyone. Rain blowing sideways in the gusts of buffeting wind and driving gales that howl and moan outside my windows like a hulking leviathan, roused from his bed too early and angry at the audacity of daylight that it should dare wake him!

Rain trickling down in timid whispers, spiraling in the suspirations of wind that huff and puff and try to blow the house down, if it were about 20 times stronger. Rain that whips and sighs, pours down in tempests and then pauses to draw breath, quietly showering the already drenched and dripping earth before it gains momentum once more and rages on. Rain that caresses your cheek on one side, should you venture out, only to turn her temperamental head and slap you across the other, making you gasp in surprise while she briefly shrinks back behind the clouds to giggle and titter in unruly delight as you shriek at the chilling onslaught and totter hastily toward the closest door.

Rain coming down and down and down for days in a row; puddles growing, stretching, expanding, seeking, yet never finding, so snaking onward from the crevice in the drive, to the gully along the roadside, to the slight swale in the yard forming puddles, then pondlets, then great big marshy mires that threaten to suck you under should you accidentally step a toe into its slurking fringes. Rain and wind and puddles and wild lament, lashing and rowing with the temperate smile of the sun, hiding her glimmering face and her balmy assurance that this, too, shall pass, while the sting and slither of sleeting showers spill and tumble over all.

Yet even as the raucous storm rages on, I sit warm and dry, untouched by even the slightest droplet, lest I choose to wander out into the fray.

How like Life this Squall must be,
Raging and Storming in Calamity,
Yet Love is a Harbour against the Storm
Where I can Choose Security, Safe and Warm.

~Morgan~
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Photograph found at: hdwallpapermania.com

22 Comments

    1. OH MY!! 🙂 Coming from The English Professor, I am Honoured and Truly Amazed! Thank You Ever Ever So. What an amazing comment, Patricia 😉

      So very glad you like it!

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    1. is this really a Haibun? If it is, then yes it may be my first…I think 🙂 unintentional, to be sure, but nevertheless 😉

      So glad you like it!

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      1. A haibun is prose followed by poetry, often a haiku, but could be another form. It read like a haibun to me. 🙂 Congrats, you now write haibun! LOL

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  5. Oh, I’m sure you are tiring of it by now, Morgan, but we who live in the drought ridden area would love to see that kind of rain again. I sure wish you could send it this way. Hugs, Natalie 🙂

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    1. Even with as much as hot air and I can muster (and sometimes thats a lot) I dont think I could blow it in your direction…though I wish I could.

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    1. Hahah, nope, I write a little of everything, although I do confess that poetry is usually my “go-to”. Most of my Non-Poetic writings/ramblings are under the category WHIMSY on my blog, should you find yourself curious.

      Thanks Ever So, Rajiv!

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