A Spring Poem : April Rain

 I realized that it would be good to post this before we'e so far into spring that it's not so relevant.  

April rain

after a dry winter.

Some night visitor ate both

baby cucumber plants,

but the tomatoes are fine,

the fresh garden verdant

in the soaked soil.

A tiny bit of mist

floats down onto my cheeks,

invisible to the eye,

as the sun struggles

to break through.

 

This is the sky

that reigns over

the tiny plot of land,

this urban refuge

in a world of turmoil.

It is a hugeness, this sky,

changing, changing,

full of billowing clouds

at this moment –

this moment of breath

and herbaceous scents,

of a light breeze rustling

the tender new branches

of the Japanese maple

and the reaching shoots

of clematis vine.

 

These are the tall trees,

redwood and pine,

who lift their bodies

high above the houses,

whose unseen roots

intertwine beneath

the earth.

 

This is my heart,

heavy with fear and sorrow,

burdened with uncertainty

and resistant to accepting

the fact.

 

There is a show of sunlight now,

between drops of mist,

between the rain that was

and the rain to come.

Between.  As we all are.

Between life and death, of course,

but also between breaths,

between times of connections,

between moments.

 

Each between is

an opening,

each between a space

in the clouds,

each between a possibility

of letting go, a possibility

of ending, a possibility

of love.