Born in springtime under the shade of morning's fire
She is:
A random deluge but every droplet, essential. Or
The sensual call of the cicada's song and the impenetrable power
Of mountain after mountain after mountain.
She assists the rivers which spirals along the terrain's curved spine running
into the horizon to greet the dusk where she becomes the silk of night.
She is the cumulonimbus breath, the flood and surge
Sent from the voluminous heavens to set the world in order.
She is unleashed from deep within cyclonic winds and hydrated breezes which
settle and then lull the forest and jungle to sleep.
She nourishes the lunatic waves and is the ebb and tide, the undulating secret
Rocking the boat, the dock, the shore, the heart.
She is the ice, the snow, the brine and the mist
Transforming endless dreams of barren space into a wild fete
Enrapturing the eyes, nose, ears and skin.
She is the music and cadence, the harmony through which visions create
themselves.
She is the melody divine.
Singing, touching, dancing, crying, scintillating...
She is the rain.
Redolent , the smell of fire upon the earth, the air. Humidity meets
electricity. The synergy
makes her come.
