Singing in the the Rain

It rained!  It rained!  It rained!  Can you tell I am excited about this?  Living here in the desert, especially during this drought, rain is a precious, scarce thing.  It has rained in Alamogordo exactly twice since October 2010, so I wholeheartedly welcomed this rainshower.  I love the smell of rain, the way it tastes on the back of my tongue, the way the dust dances up into the air as the droplets sting the ground.  I love the patter of the rain on my windows and the fat, plopping sound it makes as it hits puddles. 

The clouds have been gathering for the past few days and all day today I could see the rain hit the mountains that surround the basin.  The winds picked up, the clouds looked ominous, and still nothing for hours and hours.  The weather here can be such a tease.  Then finally, after dark, the skies opened up and the beautiful rain started.  I hold a lot of good memories in which rain or thunderstorms provided the backdrop.  It reminded me of some poems I wrote about the rain.  Instead of advice, I am going to share those in this particular post.

Mudpies and Tennis Shoes

Small feet ran, higgledy-piggledy
through the woods, catching puddles in their tennis shoes.
It collected between toes and squished next to chilling skin.
A natural scent of wet sun and forest floor
intoxicated the children, interrupted their exodus.

Each bent low to the ground, scooped handfuls of wet earth
and slung it at one another.
They laughed at the slapping sound it made
when mud connected with flesh.
They reveled in the feel of slick, thick dirt
that slipped liquid between their fingers.
Small hands struggled to keep bits of it contained
before launching chunks through the air.
The clods arced in raindrops, melted in their descent
and then plopped against
an arm, tummy, or leg.

Mother was displeased
and put the wet shoes out to dry.
But she couldn't stay mad for long
when white smiles showed through dirty faces.

Raindrop Nirvana

Cradled on the wet asphalt scent of city rain,
thoughts settle under my skin, fill my nose
and burrow into my brain.

I refuse to regret the rain--for I too,
am a big, fat, tear-shaped drop
that slides along life, gripping tightly
against anything smooth and easy.

Someday, gravity will garner my attention
and potential will pull heavy at my center.
Then with natural force, I will mingle in chaos.
I will drop down into the patterned puddle of humanity.
Out of many-one.
Here I am, and now I'm gone.