Days of Rain
by Abigail Heatwole
Chill, bleak, despairing.
Weeks of it.
Rain taps unceasingly on the roof,
rain slides tirelessly over the window panes,
rain runs endlessly in rivulets on the ground;
these tiny tributaries mingle together
until the earth is a sheet, sopping wet.
Rain traps the children inside;
the teachers have headaches.
One morning the sky woke blue.
The windows showed four small blue squares.
That evening we drove west
through the great clear expanse
and all the disappearing puddles shone smooth
as satin mirrors of blinding gold.
When we arrived I rolled the window down.
All that is cool, and clear, and clean
And the silence—
the silent sunset,
the aching pink that is the sky
heron slowly flying
Abigail Heatwole thinks lots of thoughts, much to her annoyance; sings choral music, with great delight; and places tall flowers in glass bottles, to her mother’s joy.
Photography by Kenneth Godoy
6 thoughts on “Abigail Heatwole: Days of Rain”
Beautiful. I see the heron
“the aching pink that is the sky.” Hitting the thumbs up button.
Thank you, both.
I love the way you paint with words dear niece!
This needs to be painted.
“All that is cool, and clear, and clean came in” very good consonance, Abigail