Waiting (for rain)
The silence grows,
thicker,
steepens back
and back again,
to a ragged subdued,
event laden sky,
on the fields,
the winds,
rest,
subdued,
dry and waiting,
the earth pauses,
as if still,
waiting,
flies buzz impatiently,
hornets pierce the westerly edge
of the mown emptiness
of corn and grey,
distances eclipsed
by the flattened growl
of distant thunder,
it’s so very still,
the bells of church and tower,
time and season,
steal across the steel grey grass,
yellowed,
fraught,
drought with exhaustion,
exhumed the last dry corpse
of summer.
And still no rain,
just presence and heat
of silence,
and yet,
and yet,
there is a coolness,
a ripple,
a subtle breath
of something stirring,
lifts and pulls and gathers,
pulls and gathers
from the empty east
to an expectant west,
the heavy pressed,
deepening wall
of cloud,
until at last
the droning deep throb
of a distance monoplane
ripples the edge
of silences
and tips the sky
and tumbles the greater
lessening skies
into the first,
the heavy drops
of falling rain.
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p1964km@googlemail.com
