When Rain Begins
 |
| (Found here) |
as grape leaves, hang
dull and listless.
Hill pastures burn
brown along the valley
stretching north and south,
where the river, sluggish
and tepid, wanders
through the dry gravel
of its bed.
The sun bakes the stones, heats
pavement beneath my feet,
lays fiery hands upon my head
and shoulders.
Before rain comes
it burdens the air—
dry air embracing rain
before it finds ground.
Then begins that steady drumming,
solid now in the air,
finding ground,
a hard wind
welcomed in a withering land
that drives weak
and strong alike
to shelter.
~James Zoller
Comments