Small rain

Even in the desert, it rains. Life,
always hidden, springs anew
from every branch and plant,
fragrance blooming from creosote,
the scent of fresh-washed soil rising
as rains mend the parched earth
and rally wizened leaves;
then comes the rainbow,
marking a promise fulfilled.

Via #dverse

…my speech shall distil as the dew, as the small rain upon the tender herb…

There are no small rains in the desert, where every drop is treasured. If only our words could be as valued and life-giving.
As I looked through my blog posts, I found a disproportionate number of references to rain. The above poem was created by combining phrases from a few of them.

13 comments

  1. I love how you have crafted previous writing into a new quadrille, Denise, and the translation of feelings about rain in one place to another. I’ve never experienced a desert but you’ve brought yours to me. I love the image of life springing anew from every branch and plant,. The lines that made me sit up are:
    ‘fragrance blooming from creosote,
    the scent of fresh-washed soil rising
    as rains mend the parched earth’.
    I’m still breathing them!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love the smell of the rain in the desert and how much more appreciated it is. Maybe it’s that appreciation you feel now that you’re living in the parched desert. Enjoyed your quadrille.

    Liked by 1 person

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