|
 When
the world is hot and my skin is fried, scratching from the constant
dry, let the clouds boil up – boil up high. And then shade the earth
with the darkening sky and bring the secrets and the smell of rain.
The heat and the blessed rain, again.
Our land is brown but blessed, stressed in the heat, the shiny heat
of day. The slender green of desert rivers slides along, striving to
continue, to feed its own along the banks – the banks where the dust
rises. Rises, powdery clomp by clomp as we walk – walk the shady
way.
Ours is the blessing of challenge, to live, to thrive in the heat.
But bring us the clouds, the black bellied clouds, the clouds that
softly hold the heads of gods in their moistening grasp. Let them
come, with their silver tops and their bellies black as night and
cool as forgiveness. [to top of second
column]
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The summer clouds, the clouds that define our
culture, our art, our summer, our hot, heavy summer. Let the magic
come and stay, stay for a while, at least for a while, and wet us
down, all the way down. Fill our pores, smooth our skin, wash us
free of dirt and sin, with the rain, the cleansing blessed rain.
A rain, a storm, a suddenness of life and blast and sweet charity
designed to keep us living here, here in the rain, here in the sun,
and keep us praying, here in the rain, and looking toward the west
for more, always to the west, always looking for more.
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by Slim’s latest book, Whimsy Castle, now available
at Amazon.com and Barnes and Noble and your local bookstore. |
