Rain at last, in the night.
Waking to the drip of water from eaves
Hopeful as the doctor’s good report
Yesterday
Not all sufficing, but a brief spell
Of mercy, mercifully leading on
To other mercies, waking dream seeds,
Forgotten sunflowers, poppies of promise,
Causing runner grass of concern to spread
And grow even faster, painting the horizon
Misty gray – no more clearly perceived
Void of sky, but rather shifting possibilities,
Potentials, buried promises spring up,
Slow steady drip of life.
Author: Duncan MacNae
Exiled Gael, scion of the Dust Bowl, dweller within Divine Grace, admirer of mountains, I have made my peace with trout and the starlings. Looking for a river and healing trees.
duncanmacduncan5@gmail.com
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