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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4585 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention A Different Rain Falls Here Vienna (Carole Barley) I have not yet found the gift of sensing rain. Only when the winds turn and the palms rear do I look up for a sign of stars, a Wiccan moon. It is a rush of glass, molten; a furious hurling of slanted spears, hounding tail-tucked dogs and flailing perfume from prostrate jasmine strands. I seek shelter; instinct nudging thoughts to my brain of possible pneumonia, dejected trottings off a perfect wicket in June. I should open my arms to the deluge like a lover, feel its smart and trickle on my skin; taste this gift that roars and leaves on sailings of wrung out cloud. I should run my fingers from forehead to nape, pinch water from my nose; look down the street for whoever else has emerged with celebration in mind, clink glasses, shout Salut! wait for the freshest whisper of green. |
