Rainwatcher
The rain-storm’s silver sealant burnishes bristling verdant pine needles, sharpening stark black bark against its cumulonimbal canvas, and through its windows, my soul settles, satisfied.
I relish rainy days. Creation’s contrasts cast vivid clarity on the greyed world, and every enlivened line shimmers with bounded beauty. The designed distinctions delight my oft-confused conscience; no ambiguity in the air as bolts of burning spark blast hazy mists apart, shearing sky into celestial shards as thunder rolls across the tears, proclaiming a presiding Presence over every piece, with peals that pound away at peace.
On brighter days, when sunbeams illumine all, the light-rays seem to wash out such diluvian distinction, and I regard the cloudless sky as I wonder if I have come to crave the flood.