The barrage of ice and snow that runs from Texas to New England has brought us only rain the last few days, still the heavy blanket of
grey clouds, the persistent drip of the drizzle, and the still shortening daylight have been their own perfect storm for me. I have worked hard to be industrious in doing several little undone things around the house as my own rage against the dying of the light. And I’ve been cooking and writing and reading. This morning, I picked up poemcrazy
I dress myself with rain
— which I decided to borrow as my writing prompt.
I dress myself with rain
make a hat of the clouds
(they shape quite easily)
and a scarf of the wind
a coat of many shadows
with pockets of light
and run barefoot
through the puddles . . .
yes, it’s almost winter
but what’s the point
of dressing with rain
if I don’t run barefoot
through the puddles?
Peace,
Milton
Love it! Muchly. And we ran through puddles, jumped over them, and stomped in them to make the water fly!
Exactly, Annie.
Do you recall Mandy’s call to confession last week? Something along the lines of taking off our scarves and coats of loneliness, pride, etc. Maybe there is a theme among the Pilgrims this week.
And when our tears turn to puddles, we ought finally dive in, soak ’em up, look to the sun… yes, to the Son who provides the only rainbow, a symbol of sure & certain hope, on which to build a solid future as our future is, but all we have left, till the next watery stone, and such is the cycle on which we roll!