“I have been thinking of the difference between water
and the waves on it. Rising,
water’s still water, falling back,
it is water, will you give me a hint
how to tell them apart?
Because someone has made up the word
“wave,” do I have to distinguish it from water?
There is a Secret One inside us;
the planets in all the galaxies
pass through his hands like beads.
That is a string of beads one should look at with luminous eyes.”
It’s been a dark and dreary morning, with the sound of a distant storm meandering its’ way in our direction. I wait with anticipation, until finally, it arrives.
With it, comes the comforting sound of raindrops tap, tap, tapping against the window pane. The running water etches a circuitous path downhill, and huge rain puddles are sure to attract the delighted child.
My fried plants are drinking greedily, knowing that, in our drought-stricken area, the life-giving water is a gift. One that cleanses and nourishes all that it touches. Like manna from heaven, it is our salvation.