Rain

It was just raining. Granted this will soon become routine and even annoying here in the Pacific
Northwest, but this is the first rain, a quiet misty affair that has now stopped.

And I like rain anyway. It brings with it such a wonderful clean smell that is like nothing else on earth. I think it cleans me as well.

Anyway, here is a poem by Sara Teasdale that I was reminded of.

There Will Come Soft Rains

There will come soft rains and the smell of the ground,
And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;
And frogs in the pool singing at night,
And wild plum trees in tremulous white;
Robins will wear their feathery fire,
Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;
And not one will know of the war, not one
Will care at last when it is done.
Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree,
If mankind perished utterly;
And Spring herself when she woke at dawn
Would scarcely know that we were gone.




Picture from http://7art-screensavers.com/screenshots/wet-flowers/wet-violet-flower.jpg