The clouds had made a crimson crown Above the mountains high. The stormy sun was going down In a stormy sky. Why did you let your eyes so rest on me, And hold your breath between? In all the ages this can never be As if it had not been. ~Mary Elizabeth Coleridge “A Moment”
Thunder blossoms gorgeously above our heads, Great, hollow, bell-like flowers, Rumbling in the wind, Stretching clappers to strike our ears . . .
Full-lipped flowers Bitten by the sun Bleeding rain Dripping rain like golden honey— And the sweet earth flying from the thunder. ~Jean Toomer “Storm Ending”
A thunderstorm swirled above us last night as we finished our farm chores, dropping noisy raindrops and then passing until the next cloud rolled over and dumped some more. I climbed to the top of our hill and looked out at a busted-up sky trying to mend itself. It was trying to zip itself together again but once fractured, it was broken forever, pouring gold rays of sunbeams like honey onto the landscape.
In that moment of broken sky, I was doused in a Light that breathed golden breath on me, reminding me not to forget: He is here.
God does not leave us comfortless in the storms of our lives so be not afraid. He is still here in the morning.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t be afraid. God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come. ~Jane Kenyon “Let Evening Come”
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The rain and the wind, the wind and the rain —
They are with us like a disease:
They worry the heart,
they work the brain,
As they shoulder and clutch at the shrieking pane,
And savage the helpless trees.What does it profit a man to know
These tattered and tumbling skies
A million stately stars will show,
And the ruining grace of the after-glow
And the rush of the wild sunrise? ~William Ernest Henley from “The Rain and the Wind”
Yesterday started with a calm and steady rain
making even more sodden a sullen gray dawn–
then unbidden, a sudden chilly gust from the northeast
ripped loose remaining leaves
and sent them spinning,
in yellow clouds.
The battering of rain and wind
followed by an early snowfall
leaves no doubt
summer is done for good —
the past is past.
I hunker through the turbulence
to await a clear night when once again
heaven empties itself out
into a fragile crystalline dawn.
Early morning, everything damp all through. Cars go by. A ripping sound of tires through water. For two days the air Has smelled like salamanders. The little lake on the edge of town hidden in fog, Its cattails and island gone. All through the gloom of the dark week Bright leaves have been dropping From black trees Until heaps of color lie piled everywhere In the falling rain. ~Tom Hennen “Wet Autumn” from Darkness Sticks to Everything.
There is no one home but me— and I’m not at home; I’m up here on the hill, looking at the dark windows below. Let them be dark…
…The air is damp and cold
and by now I am a little hungry…
The squirrel is high in the oak,
gone to his nest , and night has silenced the last loud rupture of the calm. ~Jane Kenyon from “Frost Flowers”
Even when the load grows too heavy,
weariness rolling in like a fog to
dampen all that was once vibrant,
there awaits a nest of nurture,
a place of calm
where we are fed
when we are tired and hungry.
We will be filled;
we will be restored;
the load will lighten.