let night erase these dust soft prints walked bare to the river among broken leaves – let the rain want our walking prayer, bind it mud, mycelium and root to the living – let the stirring of leaves, high in the canopy, be the breath of our prayers becoming the wind that turns and brings…
at the heart of this moment is the space that sighs between leaf and light and air that hangs motionless before the wind turns towards us heavy with rain.
my father would have said it was going to rain if he saw that half moon flipped over in the afternoon sky, he would have said die maan gooi water though it was neither his language nor mine. he would have gloated in the morning at the emptied barrels new filled with night rain, but…
beyond the hills the sea is calling. grey under waves of cloud that pulled like tides across the sky, pushed soft across the land, drenched soil and skin until the leaves shone clear and the birds resumed their singing.
i suppose i should pull in the washing before that light suddenly given form by falling rain sweeps across the valley to meet me, face to the storm, splatting on my page and arms gathering pooling running leaf spine and loud through the canopy. i suppose i should put down my pen before the sky…
there is electric in the air i taste it on my tongue wet my finger to test the wind breathless – i wait run cool hands across the sky calling under my feet mycelium are threading towards the light hearing beyond the horizon waiting for the storm.
loud like the taste of rain on my skin the cicadas sing the end of summer. drawing by Tim Hewitt-Coleman
i have opened my doors to the rain – let my feet run wild in dust splat drops, let it bite bliss on my skin and run rivers down my spine. i have opened my doors thrown windows wide to the drenched summer sky let the sound of falling rain quench my thirsty heart. …