Is it wrong that I sometimes
Sit back and look out my window at the world
And find it incomprehensible?
Me, who glories in meanings and mysteries.
Who sniffs out patterns and possibilities like a
Bloodhound roots through fallen leaves.
Believes. Catches the scent of hidden things.
Is it wrong that today I am weary of the scent of earth?
Is it a sin that I look through the rain on the glass
And see the chaos there as elementary,
Better than me, more honest than I am even
On my best day?
If only we more rational creatures would
Follow the advice of those prone to instinct.
Roll over. Paw the sky. Expose our bellies.
Naked beneath the teeth of our adversary, but
Willing to hope in the gentle hand.
Chris,
I love this poem. Your words and phrasing made me sit back and reflect this morning as I was bemoaning the rain once again. Thank you for helping me wake up, roll over and pretend my tummy is being tickled! Auntie M