The rain moves through in waves –
crescendos and diminuendos
with or without wind
from a random direction
That we are loved is as apparent
as that the grass is, and the springing trees
that drink the rain,
less because of this dry place to watch from
than because gratitude
moves through us
just like that.
©Wendy Mulhern
April 22, 2020
I look for what is framed
in the constancy of rain –
the trees down by the river,
the box that shelters us
We may trade it in
for a surfeit of sleep,
a slacking off of work
(on cue from the sun)
We have music
in lieu of warmth,
warmth in lieu of light.
Robins and deer and turkeys
have what they need
in the wet expanse
of the wide outside.
©Wendy Mulhern
March 30, 2020
Spring steps easy
on the balance of the equinox –
this one step tips the scale
and opens up the time of daylight.
They say we will have snow tomorrow night.
I don’t believe it –
the sun so radiant
and so constant
in this stretching afternoon,
I feel it never will give up its reign
Evening, I’m sure, will disabuse me –
the wind that I have hid from
in this southern corner
(which still whistles, cools the air
around the north side)
will assert itself, and once again,
I’ll build a fire against the cold,
and we’ll work to get the trees in
before the dry season takes hold.
Wendy Mulhern
March 21, 2020
And after the thick of the storm,
like a little blue window
amid the clouds rolling and roiling —
a window that may disappear
many times before the clouds clear
and blue displays its winning infinite —
Somewhere before the dark has fully ended,
that blue window of truth
will give you hope,
and the storm’s narrative
will slowly cease to matter,
its irrelevance apparent as it dissipates,
and you can hold on,
for once you’ve seen it,
you won’t believe in darkness anymore.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 1, 2019
There is a place for tears,
there is a place
for turning around three times
and lying down,
there is a place for curling up
and waiting for the inner heave to stop
The comfort rises up around me
like soft flames from the coals,
cradles me, reminds me
this warmth is always at hand
Maybe we’re allowed
to have a soft day sometimes,
to go back to bed, for a while,
in the afternoon,
to do about as much work
as the sun did today,
showing up for about an hour
between fog and day’s end.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 6, 2019
The softness of the day at three
is a fine gift — softness of wind,
warmth from the sun,
a softening of urgency
to get things done,
a sense of progress,
a sense that our release,
while not in sight as yet,
could come some day.
©Wendy Mulhern
November 3, 2019
The weather came through fast —
one moment, charming warm sun,
the next, a rolling dark cloud,
a strong cold wind,
rain visible across the valley,
trees on the east hill
making a rushing sound
The task we were doing
in peaceful progression
became urgent, rain rolling down
the roof we were trying to cover,
ladders getting muddy, footing slippery
I rode the rush of excitement
through the storm,
not minding the wet and the cold
or the need to persist with our task until done,
since we’d be there to see and to feel it.
©Wendy Mulhern
October 3, 2019
Day dawns,
rain gone
(if for a moment)
sun flirts with wind,
clouds glint and grin
We free a dove
that trapped itself
in our young cherry tree’s enclosure,
I try the spirits
and today it’s clearer
whence they hail
These things do not depend
on weather, or on any gods
society has shaped and propped up,
they don’t depend on how we felt
or what we said and did
It is the Spirit
that sustains us,
breathing what we are
into our consciousness,
planting the clarity of our cause
into our frames.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 10, 2019
I let myself fill up with rain.
It was an indulgence,
not something to sustain,
not something I have time for
in the day to day,
while the various buckets
we put under leaks
register their irregular
pticks and clangs and taps,
and hope seems to be leaking, too
We will get through this —
our source of strength does not depend
on all things rosy.
It will show itself steady,
well able to overcome
both internal and external rain.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 9, 2019
Standing under the porch roof
I aimed my camera
and tried to catch a lightening bolt
I failed, though I saw five of them
— lack of faith, perhaps,
in my ability, or in the likelihood
that it would strike again
Wind brought the smell of rain
(though it rained little)
and relief, if for the moment,
from the sultry stillness
and the thickness
of the thunder-laden air
To have a roof over our heads
is cause for gratitude,
which marks how far we’ve come
and gives a standpoint from which
we can receive more.
©Wendy Mulhern
September 5, 2019
