Written by I. Graham Smith
“The pregnant pause of morning clouds
Lowered in the sky
A dim and distant roaring
Tells of future by and by
And then slowly come the raindrops
Maybe one in every ten
Soon with gusto they are falling
The dust will soon be cleansed
A cacophony of water
A plethora of mist
They descend upon the earth below
Their effects are in our midst
Bigger than the rest of us
Grandest planet, nature grown
Self perpetuating, growth and rust
A system made of grist and bone
I rest upon the crooked land
Watch the rain
Raise the hand
Grateful for the life and plan
A symphony of complex mystery.”
Text © I. Graham Smith
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Compelling work. The line “I rest upon the crooked land” is especially evocative, if not prophetic.