Virginia Isaacs MacLeod

 

O ye showers…[and] winds of God.
…lightning and clouds bless ye the Lord:
praise him, and magnify him forever. (BCP p. 48)

 

For all the world, I am back in the summer kitchen—
      the smell of rain in the air,
      the light outdoors tinged with green—
      glaring, before the rain begins.

Green and white flame-stitch
      cushioning white wicker—
A window on the storm.

The air being stirred
      by brown wooden blades
      of the fan overhead.

And the wind outside
      sweeping the fresh smelling rain
      across the stone walk and steps—

Across the back field—
Overflowing the stream.

The grass looking greener—
      the ground soaked.

The bare feet of the children rest-toes curled—
      on the cool pavered floor,
      then gathered under their owner (curled up side by).

The window in the pantry
      —unlatched from the right side, swung out to the left—
      stays open,
      letting in the sounds of rain.

We count from thunder rumble
      to lightning crack.

The rain drips off the bell
      mounted on the post
      outside the back door.

The wheel of bells—
      turned by a handle
      (Beside the door leading from the summer kitchen into the house)
      stays dry.

Head, back, and feet—
      bone dry.
It is our spirits that are drenched.