Unlike many, I don’t enjoy the rain.
“What do birds say?”Rain is showering the soil;
big moment for the gigantic soul
of planet Earth,
to chill, contemplate and drink.
What do birds say
to the crying heavens,
with their soaking feathers
flapping in the air.
What do the predators say,
patrolling boundaries of the realm,
paws slapping puddles on the surface,
searching for the borders now erased.
I become mute and locked,
don’t pray in the rain,
don’t sing in the shower, really,
only simple flute
playing a somber tune,
at the edges of my soul,
past the dunes and snow,
where the sun hits different
following the storm.