When God sorts out the weather and sends rain,
Why, rain's my choice.
James Whitcomb Riley
Driveway dark with wet,
Brown grass wicking the moisture,
Trees drinking it in with arms spread wide,
Roof serenading me with drumming,
Raindrops washing the window for me.
This weather is washing my soul,
Renewing and repairing my senses,
Freshening the prairie like wind off the ocean.
I savor the clean taste of it,
Listen to the staccato sound of it,
Feel the clean wake of it,
Smell the soft scent of it,
See the sweet hope in each drop.
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