I sit on the cabin porch
and wait for the rain,
listening to thunder
and the rattle of the neighbor’s tractor
as he tries to get his grass mowed in time.
The wind comes up, the daisies and the firs
send message —
I can smell it, I will see it soon

A doe is nonchalantly
grazing in the meadow,
little birds are quiet
while trucks keep rolling home,
and the rain is here
fresh and rhythmic on the roof,
the place we are suddenly grows small
but we are dry
and there is room enough.

©Wendy Mulhern
June 27, 2019