The land is watered from
dawn to dusk and into the night.
If I close my eyes and listen
I am on Vancouver Island,
yet with a fresher touch of cool.
“Light - dews - breezes - bloom - and freshness; not one of which
…has yet been perfected on the canvas of any painter in the world.”
~ John Constable, painter
(1776 - 1837)
Trust is without definition.
It is the colour of water
in its vastness,
iron grey ~
troubled by rain clouds or
clear blue ~ reflecting
sun and moving cloud,
shades of green ~
at the shoreline where trees
bend to caress the water,
~ or capped by lacy froth
on a windy day.
Our only definition grows
from the details of our lives
lessons from those we grew up with until
our own definition blossoms
a definition that is confident and sure.
But trust remains without definition and
yet with a form we feel in our gut.
“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water.
When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water,
because if you do you will sink and drown.
Instead you relax, and float.”
~ Alan Wilson Watts, British philosopher
(1915 - 1973)
Cool evening rain-washed air
Wind slowed to a whisper
Gentle remnants of a rainy day.
“August rain: the best of the summer gone, and
the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.”
~ Sylvia Plath, poet
(1932 ~ 1963)
There is an in-between speed
that has no destination,
no timing,
no when to stop,
when to step on the gas,
a strange and awkward place
where imagination can roam free
to choose a book to read,
a walk to take,
no sense of urgency
until rain pours in violent torrents
when windows must be closed
drains cleared of dried flower petals.
A stop and go time that fills
once more with in-between time.
“Sometimes the space between knowing what to do
and actually doing it is a very short walk.
Other times it is an impossible expanse.”
~ David Levithan, author
Out on the balcony where
I could know the power of the storm,
smell the moist, soft rain,
feel cool air on my arms
hear thunder’s deep voice
as it wandered away
I felt safe with my book
revelling in flashes of lightning
seeing dripping trees hold their breath
hearing the slush of traffic
watching the tough, bulky clouds
as they followed the thunder.
“If I accept the sunshine and warmth, then
I must also accept the thunder and lightning.”
~ Khalil Gibran
Thin morning clouds
hovered and grew
Thunder muttered
Rain spattered then
poured in sheets
Fragments of blue sky
peered through ~
gone in an instant
air fragrant with moisture
Evening clouds
ride high and spent.
“I love the smell right after a storm.”
~ Elijah Wood
Clouds thick and lowering
Thunder rolling across the city
Flicker and flash of bright lightning
Trees lashed about by unruly winds
Rain bucketed straight down,
undeterred by wind
Drains stopped by stray leaves,
My red clogs splashed to clear them
reached with a long poled squeegee
Tonight calm, damp and cool.
“I can hear your whisper and distant mutter.
I can smell your damp on the breeze and
in the sky I see the halo of your violence.
Storm I know you are coming.”
~ Robert Fanney,
(Author of science fiction and fantasy)
 |
| June 16, 2525 |
Today
Arrogant puffed up clouds
roamed the skies
sunshine glanced
through
patches of blue,
Grey undersides
reminded
of their promise.
Vestiges of yesterday’s storm
wandered
gathered
Rain splashes
abruptly,
at their whim.
Evening air
cold ~ damp
refreshing
Even now
thunder grumbles
in the distance
“There is peace even in the storm.”
~ Vincent van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent van Gogh
Author’s note: I did not get a photograph of today’s skies,
but located this photo from June 16, 2025.
Low, distant grumbling thunder wakened
from a troubled sleep.
Heard long before the wind
raced through the trees
flogging them with no regard
to the stately green giants.
Flashes of lightning flicker.
Rain flung at the world.
streets ran with icy water
sloshed from the heavens.
Tiny hailstones raced
ahead of raindrops.
In an hour,
exhaustion is all that’s left.
The calm after the storm
drips in the evening chill.
“Nature makes no noise. The howling storm,
the rustling leaves, the pattering rain are no disturbance,
there is an essential and unexplored harmony in them.”
~ Henry David Thoreau
(Journal, 18 November 1837)
 |
It was clearer today
as though a gust of wind
had brushed aside
gathering cobwebs ~
flinging them into
muttering thunderclouds,
washing it clean in
raindrops and cool air.
“Sometimes it all gets a little too much, but
you gotta realize that soon the fog will clear up.”
~ Shawn Mendes, singer, song-writer
