Tag Archives: rain

A Walk in the Wet


Rain boots, raincoat,
wet forest
wind flinging drops from the leaves
in a symphonic whishhhh
landing on my head.
River water rising, brown.
Ferns, moss, mud,
slippery stones,
dark fallen leaves everywhere
on drenched earth.
Balmy wind blowing hot and moist on skin.
Walking, walking.
Singing, singing.
Dancing, dancing.
Even warmer.
Blue skies.
More clouds.
A distant rumbling
of storm meeting storm.
Tromping along a
watery path,
ducking underneath
a weaver’s delicate masterpiece
strung from leaf to leaf
nearly invisible.
Remembering to breathe,
thankful for the cradle
nature always give me
when my heart yearns
for the silence of a
woodland cacophony.

The Freshness Within


The rains come.
They wash away the dust,
dirt and heat of the day.
They leave a refreshing coolness,
a softness, a pause,
a freshness.
And when my head
feels hot and cluttered
with dusty thoughts
and the dirt of the world,
I sit and go inside myself
and allow the cooling waters
of self-reflection, of meditation,
of sanity
to give me the softness, the pause,
and the freshness within.
May all beings find their inner solace,
the source of their own healing waters,
and attain liberation
through self-realization.

Inspiration is a Question


It’s late,
and I worry I won’t find inspiration.
Too tired to dig down deep
and extract some delightful gem
from the depths of my subconscious…
but then I sit, and listen.
I hear the rain
drumming on the skylight in the hall.
I can picture millions of tiny drops
falling on every skylight in this neighborhood,
tapping on all the windows, the roofs.
Hundreds of leaves on hundreds of trees
shaking gently as each drop meets
its final destination.
And the blades of grass, how do they feel?
And the birds?
The swings hanging in the dark playground–
do they wonder when they’ll move again
to a swinger’s delight?
There are fox and deer around here–
where are they in this rain?
Do they love the sound of its falling as I do?
How big is the cloud loosing all these drops
on the world?
Does it stretch a mile across the sky?
Ah, I remember now.
Inspiration isn’t an answer.
It is a question.



A rainy day in Baltimore city
An airplane flying overhead
Wind rustling the changing leaves
Drops of rain ending their descent
on asphalt, concrete, metal, glass, garbage
but also on earth, grass, flowers, trees,
and puppies scampering by with umbrella-ed owners
A neighbor sings as she walks down the street
The latest pop tune?
I don’t know,
I’m disconnected from that scene
I prefer to listen to the inner music,
the music that no one else can hear,
but maybe they can see
when they look at me
what a mixture of unconscious dissonance and
deliberate harmony can produce
in this human life
of sounds and silence.



The wind rushes in my window–
A welcome music after hearing the violent discord,
some neighbors arguing in the street.
No eloquent words were exchanged–
only the basest of language reigned,
their tongues made prisoner by that tyrant Ignorance.

The wind blows even stronger
and the prayer flags fluttering above my window
give rest to my eyes
after watching a little boy
–my neighbor’s son–
duck away across the street,
presumably to escape that discordant hell.
His slight frame curling forward protectively,
his fast little stick legs flashing white in the street light,
a vision now haunting me–
I hope he made it inside before the rains came.

Distant thunder, the storm approaches,
I open my window even wider to let it in.

Come blow the hatred away, the misunderstanding;
Come blow the blindness away and restore our sight;
Cleanse the cluttered mind.

The raindrops fall and slam and batter,
and still the sunflowers stand tall.

Rainy Sunday Morning


It’s coming down hard and fast.  The skies are grey, the wind is stirring the trees that are still naked because of the lingering winter.  The rain is coming down sideways, pelting the windows and doors, and everyone is still asleep in this murky light.

My body is sick again.  Nose running all day yesterday, both kids sick too, we went through so many tissues that we had to ask my sister to grab us some more from the drug store.  My mom and sister came over to watch the kids so that I could see my husband at his salon and have my hair done by him for the first time since November.  We had a reservation for dinner afterwards; as I sat at home sick yesterday, I wondered if I’d have the strength to drag myself out to have a much-needed date with the husband.  I did.

I arrived at the salon right at closing time.  The other stylists, the assistants and the receptionist were slowly filtering out.  I chatted with them briefly, I know them all and although my husband works with them, I rarely get to see them myself.  Then they were gone, and it was quiet.  My hubby worked on my hair for three hours, giving me ombre ends, taking great pains to make sure the transition from my normal brown to the lighter color was smooth.  Lots of foils on my head, I sat under the processor for quite some time, and my husband and I chatted in the empty salon.  I reached for a tissue every so often, was feeling resistant to being sick–but nothing could be done, so my only work was dealing with the resistance.  After he shampooed the hair color out of my hair, and conditioned and blew it dry and brushed it, then he curled it with an interestingly shaped conical curling iron, with a bigger diameter at the end and a smaller diameter at the  base.  It was fun to see my normally slightly wavy hair full of big bouncy curls.  I told him I loved it.

Dinner was nice…just being able to sit and enjoy my food without having to jump up and take care of someone else–pure luxury.  We enjoyed crab bisque, and a lovely salad with roasted beet, chèvre, pine nuts, radish sprouts and argula.  I ended up sending my main course back, and it was interesting to watch my mental process as I debated on whether or not the server would be upset for my not wanting to eat what I had ordered.  The scallops were rubbery and too salty, and I finally reasoned that I wouldn’t pay thirty dollars for a dish I wasn’t enjoying.  A sign that I’m validating my feelings and standing up for myself?  Perhaps.  Taking little steps on this path to self-realization.  Honoring my truth…

The server was apologetic and asked if I wanted something else.  I declined–I was already mostly full from the rich bisque and the wonderful salad, but I did end up having bites of my husband’s entree. Desert, coffee, check paid, we ventured out into the rainy night, grateful that it had abated somewhat and was no longer the torrential downpour that it was just fifteen minutes earlier.  Back at home, my daughter still wasn’t in bed although it was past ten o’clock.  It took much convincing and nose wiping to get her to lie down, but I heard her getting up and my husband being stern with her multiple times while I attempted my evening meditation.  It is extremely difficult to sit still and focus inwards when my body is exhausted and sick.  I cut the session short in the interests of getting more rest, went downstairs, and discovered my daughter was still awake.  My husband was clearly peeved.

I lay down with her in her bed, spoke softly to her, wiped her nose, rubbed her back.  Nothing really worked.  She wasn’t feeling well and the sensations in her body were keeping her awake.  We tried soothing throat drops, more encouragement…finally we gave her some medicine, and I guess it helped somewhat because she finally grew quiet.  By this time it was after midnight.

My body woke me up this morning to tell me that it was still sick.  I have two yoga classes to teach today and I don’t want to miss them because I’ll again be in teacher training next weekend.  I’m thinking about how I want my body to keep doing, keep performing, and how really all I need is to be still and rest.  But honestly, in a household with two small children, going out and teaching yoga seems like a much more restful prospect than staying at home and having to attend to their needs.

It’s coming down hard and fast…the storm inside my own mind, full of thoughts, full of craving, full of aversion.  After attempting my morning sit and discovering that focus and stillness were markedly limited due to my physical state, I’m sitting here at the table drinking a cup of tea and hoping that I can be cheerful in spite of the challenges this day is already presenting.

Glad to have fit my writing practice in. I have hopes that I’ll remember to breathe and do the best I can.

May the rain outside wash away the dust and dirt of the world.  May the rain inside wash away the dust and dirt of my mind…