Rain drumming a cadence on a metal roof
Thousands upon thousands of beads dropping from the sky
Sacred fluid embroidery from the heavens
Laid down upon the body of our mother
On a metal roof, the outside becomes the inside
I am that much closer to the storms and the rain
In my metal tent
Living on the land more like my ancestors, shunning the high rises
And cute little cookie cutter neighborhood carefully portioned perfectly
The lizard climbs my walls
Sand is on my floor again
It is never cool enough or warm enough
Nature brings awe, respect, comfort, fear
The ground shakes with thunder
My little window panes threaten to crack
The skylight fills with pine needles and leaves
Each storm beats out a different song on my rooftop
I hide in my cave until daybreak
I wrote this when living in a camper on the Carolina coast. Storm after storm had been coming in, and right after this, Hurricane Ophelia. It was quite an experience, as I had always lived in traditional housing before that.
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on July 19, 2006
Wishful thinking, or reculsive in life? A wanting to get back to nnature kind of poem, at least that is how I took it. One that had rather go back to more simpler and less intrusive days. I can identify with that some.
Explore the mystery of how nature makes unexpected gifts of creative wonders to an unsuspecting caregiver one late night and early morning in southeastern Georgia, USA.
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