I too have stared out the window On a dim dull Saturday morning And watched the rain pound puddles in the driveway And wondered why it should rain On the day we planned the picnic. Like you I have blessed the weatherman Who promised a sunny weekend With blue skies and light winds, Days perfect for ball games and hiking, For mowing the lawn and visiting with neighbors. And I have cursed that same oracle When storm clouds blotted the promised sun And the heavens poured on us As we crouched sullenly in our tents While the wind whipped wet leaves through the gray air. Once I was nearly buried on a hay wagon By the sweet half-dry hay as old Johnny Martinson Drove the Farmall in high down the rows as we hurried To get the hay to the barn before the rain came, And I remember the extra quarter I got when we did it. But I remember also my father telling us Of dust storms in Nebraska in the thirties, Of ropes strung between the house and barn To guide farmers to and from their chores, Of days so dark that the chickens roosted at noon. And long after the Dust Bowl years I remember summers so dry That the grass cut our feet like oat straw, When ponds went dry and blackberries Withered on the wilted vines, When people prayed for rain, Under merciless bright skies by day And on windless nights with heat lightning Flashing and mumbling beyond the horizon, Prayed so hard that finally the rain did come. But most of all I remember when I was twelve Weeding the garden one hot dry day (The best days to weed, my father told me, Are when it is hot and dry and sunny.) Home alone and hating the work, Dreaming of heroes who did not weed or hoe, When suddenly from the west a storm Swept up the valley and over our woods and garden. Lightning and thunder and raindrops big as grapes Stung my cheeks as I stood stupidly in the storm. But I think that you too would have shared my joy With the corn waving in the garden, potato leaves nodding at each drop, The pines washed green and oh! the puddles of cool water Washing the dust from my bare feet as I rejoiced In the splendor of the rain. --Chuck Rang
7 Comments
Lori Tennimon
5/14/2018 07:39:58 am
Lovely, Chuck. Very vivid. I can picture everything you illuminate.
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Barb Rang
5/14/2018 12:30:56 pm
In some ways you sound like Robert Frost. Loved the story poem,
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Patsy Bateson
5/14/2018 04:22:53 pm
I love it, and the picture goes with it perfectly!
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Jeanne
5/15/2018 03:39:21 pm
Wonderful poem Chuck. You draw an interesting picture of rain.
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Anne Olson
5/23/2018 08:30:04 am
Lovely, Chuck. Is that your photo, too?
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Jeanne
7/11/2018 07:48:48 am
So proud to call you one of us at Willow River Writers. I hear your voice in the poem.
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