by Laura Sera
I’ve been hoping for this day
and coffee in hand,
I sit at my front window.
There is a line of rain coming.
It rolls over the bay waters,
hovering then moving again.
I’m wondering when it will
obscure the glass.
Parched for a downpour,
I set my cup down and watch
the roofline across the street.
The rain will hit there first,
the drops declaring themselves
in the asphalt on the flat roof.
It’s a gauzy front that’s rolling in and now
I can no longer see the bay.
I feel my spirit readying.
This pregnant phantom
promises to fall to earth soon.
The birds have taken cover.
Plants open wide their roots
as the barometer falls.
The bare branches
of the big horse chestnut tree across the street
and my wooden deck are in need
of a good scrubbing.
The mist begins to clean the air.
My heart jumps.
I lean forward in my chair
and reach for my boots.
The roof has signaled
and I am quickly on the move.
In a moment the wet pavement
will give off that scent I loved so long ago
when I was young and rain
was ordinary and abundant,
when I wore my rubber boots to dance in it.
I tilt my face and close my eyes and
before I know it, I begin to sway.
The mingling of tears and rain
and a little waltz
is truly a proper offering for this rare day.
and coffee in hand,
I sit at my front window.
There is a line of rain coming.
It rolls over the bay waters,
hovering then moving again.
I’m wondering when it will
obscure the glass.
Parched for a downpour,
I set my cup down and watch
the roofline across the street.
The rain will hit there first,
the drops declaring themselves
in the asphalt on the flat roof.
It’s a gauzy front that’s rolling in and now
I can no longer see the bay.
I feel my spirit readying.
This pregnant phantom
promises to fall to earth soon.
The birds have taken cover.
Plants open wide their roots
as the barometer falls.
The bare branches
of the big horse chestnut tree across the street
and my wooden deck are in need
of a good scrubbing.
The mist begins to clean the air.
My heart jumps.
I lean forward in my chair
and reach for my boots.
The roof has signaled
and I am quickly on the move.
In a moment the wet pavement
will give off that scent I loved so long ago
when I was young and rain
was ordinary and abundant,
when I wore my rubber boots to dance in it.
I tilt my face and close my eyes and
before I know it, I begin to sway.
The mingling of tears and rain
and a little waltz
is truly a proper offering for this rare day.
Laura Sera is a grandmother, poet and spiritual director based in Berkeley, California. She
co-teaches a class on active listening for sacred living. Her poetry reflects the
meaning she encounters in the hallowed beauty of the small and ordinary life. Laura
lives with her husband and golden retriever, both of whom make her strive to be a
better human.