I grew up near Seattle. Given its proximity to Puget Sound and the Pacific Ocean, it rains non-stop in that area. Because of this, I regard rain as a dreary annoyance. (Did I mention I don’t like it? 😆).
Since it’s rained a lot the last few days, I have rain on the brain. So I give you “Rain,” a poem from my first book, The Wind and the Shadows.
Rain
Rain chills,
needles,
and makes sloppy.
Rain drips.
Rain falls,
evaporates,
and falls again.
It fills the globe’s
water glass.
It lacks the art
and wonder
of snow.
Rain has no flavor
or color of its own
like all
the most necessary
things.
A Wandering Minstrel 