The Rain and Its Gifts
Screaming wild joy to the god of thunder and storm clouds my brother and sister loved the rain and it’s humble gift of mud.
I used to sit by the window as it rained watching the earth come alive — flowers, trees, crops of all kinds turning their faces to the sky.
On the day after a downpour Shepherds Run roared with brown froth that swallowed up our tree-bark boats and spat them out along the bank.
The thick kind gave you elephant shoes if you stood still too long before lifting your feet to walk away. I never liked how it squeezed between my toes.
Today I lie on April grass waiting for the first heavy rain of spring to come down — pull me from this haze. I wonder when the lilies will bloom?
Matthew Hutchins fell in love with poetry under the tutelage of Dr. George Eklund at Morehead State University. He writes poetry to explore relationships with the world, with others, with the self, and with language. He lives in Central Kentucky.