Let Us Praise the Rain

It is raining again here at the Palatial Horvath Estate, as it has so often rained in the past two months. We in the Eastern US seem to have gotten most of the rain needed by the Mid- and South- West.  But Mother Nature has blessed with an uneven hand this year. I am sorry, my Mid- and South- Westian friends, for if I could send you some of our rain, I would. Instead I can only look out, sip a warm cup of tea, and enjoy.

Since I have nothing else planned to post today, I thought I would share a poem in praise of rain and love and nature.

Beloved, let us once more praise the rain.
Let us discover some new alphabet,
For this, the often praised; and be ourselves,
The rain, the chickweed, and the burdock leaf,
The green-white privet flower, the spotted stone,
And all that welcomes the rain; the sparrow too,—
Who watches with a hard eye from seclusion,
Beneath the elm-tree bough, till rain is done.
There is an oriole who, upside down,
Hangs at his nest, and flicks an orange wing,—
Under a tree as dead and still as lead;
There is a single leaf, in all this heaven
Of leaves, which rain has loosened from its twig:
The stem breaks, and it falls, but it is caught
Upon a sister leaf, and thus she hangs;
There is an acorn cup, beside a mushroom
Which catches three drops from the stooping cloud.
The timid bee goes back to the hive; the fly
Under the broad leaf of the hollyhock
Perpends stupid with cold; the raindark snail
Surveys the wet world from a watery stone…
And still the syllables of water whisper:
The wheel of cloud whirs slowly: while we wait
In the dark room; and in your heart I find
One silver raindrop,—on a hawthorn leaf,—
Orion in a cobweb, and the World.