the why of rain.
and sitting here
alone and content
at the worn wooden picnic table
just beyond the kitchen of our farmhouse,
sipping a glass of homemade iced tea.
in this quiet i hear
the soft clattering of
dinner dishes being cleaned,
and the voices of those i love
finding their way to my ears
and to my heart
from the half open window above the sink.
…now a steady pattering of raindrops through the trees.
how i so readily accept the why of rain
here on the farm, because
there are no
umbrellas parked in the foyer
and no scurrying for cover
to dodge every drop. i’ve
to enjoy being wet. closing these eyes
i savor and absorb these warming drops,
as they dot my arms
and soak my hair.