Rhapsody of the Rain

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A singularly spiritual place in my earlier time
was forty feet from end to end,
twelve feet above the forest floor,
and had a roof made of tin.




Tall trees with their canopies unfurled,
filtered the air and the sun and the rain.
By light of the moon the squirrels flew,
and in the light of day the birds sang.






The view never disappointed,
our world through natures door.
We never knew who would pay
a visit to our bit of forest floor.





The squirrels would taunt and retreat,
furry soldiers defending their territory.
They would play the aggressor at first,
then nap till their turn to be the quarry.
The deer were regular diners all year,
bucks, newlyweds, fawns and families. They came alone, in pairs and in herds,
alert and anxious they nibbled bashfully.





One day we woke to a bundle of black

curled in a ball at the bottom of the path.

Then he got up and shock off the night,

we went inside so not to suffer his wrath.




We named him Patch

and he came around often.


The deer left all at once one night,

and then as silent as a mouse

Patch walked in from the right.


Once he woke us up at 2am,

and we found him up on two feet,

pawing at the bird feeder

like it was a tether ball treat.






Little Bear came around one afternoon

and stayed to entertain for nearly an hour.

I met him again a while later out front,

my dog and I faced his frightening glower.





We grew to know all of the birds by name,

who graced our realm in wide variety.

We greeted them all throughout the day,

discovering each's unique personality.



One day to us came a handsome fox,

his hind leg was broken and it flopped.

Apples and grapes for him we chopped,

to a private smorgasbord he hopped.


He ate his fill and then filled his cheeks,

away he went but returned for more.

For two weeks he went back and forth,

feeding his kits must be a mighty chore.


Then one day a bonny fox came too,

She'd been watching and knew the drill.

We tossed down the apples and grapes,

one stood guard, the other ate their fill.


Then they'd fill their cheeks and go,

only to return in an hour to eat again.

We pleaded with them to bring their kits,

just one day left, so hopeful we've been.



We were running out of time,

and hoped to meet the fox's family.

On our last day before going home,

we saw the kits from our balcony.


It was certainly a day to remember,

they spent an hour in our company.

We never saw them again and

thats ok, we have their memory.




But the magic of that porch was when it rained,

deafening noise and peace of mind coexisting.

I heard the drops from behind as they climbed, marching up the tin roof, steadily persisting.






Now down the tin toward me the drops came,

till they fell past the eves to the ground.

Transformed under a vail of heaven's tears,

dusty leaves now glisten, softened the sound.






Nature's condensation assault from above,

provided cleansing, hydration and renewal.

Dullness made bright and thirsts quenched, cognizance awakened to life's mystical duel.




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