Rain has a rhythm.
It taps against the windows,
darkens the earth,
bends the flowers low –
and still the birds come,
still the garden drinks,
still the days unfold.
Last night, a ship sailed
across the stage
carried by flute and fiddle,
violin, bass, and mandolin.
Old stories finding new voices.
Wood became music
sharing memories again.
And I thought of another sailor,
Richard Henry Dana,
and his story,
Two Days Before The Mast.
Sharing tales of what he’d seen.
Writing it down
so the story would last.
Two stories
came together this week.
Different but so much the same.
Stories of courage and strength
carried forward
each under a different name.
And, of course I ponder life.
We cannot hold the rain.
The flowers will give way again.
We cannot keep from growing old.
We don’t command the wind.
But we can notice.
We can gather scraps of wood.
Turn that wood into a pen.
Then take that weathered wood
and scratch words on paper
holding time again.
The words will say ~
We happened.
We were here.
Words will persevere.
So let the rain fall.
Let birthday candles burn.
Let the sails fill
with whatever winds,
I’ll keep giving my pen a turn.
Steady she goes.
Stay the course
Keep writing.
Keep the story alive.
Someone will tell your story
again.
Tranquil Resources 