The scent of rain a long time coming swirls toward me
like a corkscrew wave buoyed by a swift spring wind.
Disconsolate thunder pushes through the bright day
clearing the way with gusto for approaching squall.

The clarion tone of a churchyard bell rings out,
a small voice sharing the promise of certain grace,
some safe sanctuary, shelter from sudden storm.
Brick and mortar cannot give me what I require.

The first drop falls from heaven’s wide arc of goodness
and tastes like the fulfillment of promised mercy,
sugar melting on my tongue. I am a sprouting
seed, thankful for the sunny days that make me tall,
 
but ready for this storm to shake me from my roots.
I hold fast to the hope that I might grow in love.
The rain slices grey-green sky diagonally
as soft shower gives way to a full-scale assault.

Soft Dogwood petals fly in my face, and I watch
the long-fingered Willow point to patch of white cloud.
Downpour of tears saturates my soul, ready now
for more of You, God of storm, a long time coming.