Hello again. And a poem.

It’s been a while. I blame Lockdown 3, and coming out of lockdown, and life in all its unpredictability. But here is a little something that has come out of these last few months, with its initial inspiration in the floods around Halstead earlier this year.

Flood story

The heavens open

Loosing heavy drops, rain

Falling, filling, flooding

Until ground is saturated and cannot breathe

And the barriers barely hold back

The watery weight

That is ready to overflow and overcome.

The world’s shape is changed

And contours blotted out

And I am not one to swim.

I am slowed down, drowned out,

My footing unsure,

Feelings overwhelming and overwhelmed.

I am caught and cut off.

And the rain still falls.

***

Today, the rain holds back,

Held within the clouds

And whisked past by the wind.

The hands of the wind

reach down to scoop up

The wet molecules

And between the grains of soil

The water eases its way

To lower ground

And so the level falls.

Slowly, so slowly,

The muddy water-wrought ground appears

And starts to fill its lungs again.

The dove flies back,

And though my feet still slip and slide

I can see the winding path ahead

And my puddled footprints left behind.

***

This day, there is sun.

The ground is hard

Though bearing the ruts

And dips and prints

That are the water’s scars.

The sun is shining,

And water is contained

In sparkling pools and streams

And peace is here.

This slowness is of different sort:

A wandering meander

Discovering new pathways

Under this sun.

I inhale.

Rain will come,

But not today.