Rain. An excuse to stand at the window
And listen, watch, wait. Listen: to the hush
Of the house as still as a dark burrow
Where an animal hides. Listen: the rush
Of occasional gusts, then the stillness.

Watch: the wrens hopping from stem to wet stem
Their happy bearing in contrast to titmice
Who always seem afraid. Watch: the mayhem
That strikes when the grumpy bluejay, twice
As big as the rest, frumps onto a branch.

Wait: for what? For the steady rain to cease.
Wait: for the fair sunlight to avalanche
Down from space and remake the world again.
Then let my steps be fearless, like the wren.
~Andrew Peterson “Lenten Sonnet”

I’m the child of rainy Sundays.
I watched time crawl
Like an injured fly
Over the wet windowpane.
Or waited for a branch
On a tree to stop shaking,
While Grandmother knitted
Making a ball of yarn
Roll over like a kitten at her feet.
I knew every clock in the house
Had stopped ticking
And that this day will last forever.
~Charles Simic “To Boredom”

I’m never bored on a quiet rainy Sunday.

My list of to-do’s
and want-to-do’s
and hope-to-do’s
and someday-maybe-if-I’m-lucky-to-do’s
is longer than the days still left to me.

I cherish these Sabbaths
when the clock stops, and “to-do’s” will wait.
Time suspends itself above me,
~dangling~
and the day lasts forever.

Sunday evening scaries in anticipation of Monday
are prayed away.

On a drizzly day of rest and gratitude, the world is remade,
eternity moves a little closer, my steps become more fearless
and the new week is yet another part of the journey.

Does the rain have a father?
    Who fathers the drops of dew?
Job 38:28

This Lenten season I reflect on the words of the 19th century southern spiritual hymn “What Wondrous Love is This”