The rain.
It rains.
It pours.
It splatters against the windows, against the doors.
The droplets bounce.
The droplets splash.
They seem to dash, speed up and clash.
Some puddles form.
Some streams fill out.
The water cascades, gushes out the drain spout.
The clouds are dark.
The clouds come near.
How quickly did the sun disappear?
The shower worsens.
The banks are burst.
We are hoping it won’t bring the worst.
At last, it eases.
At last, a thankful sigh.
At least, the waters didn’t come too high.
The air is quiet.
The air is still.
I ponder, whilst sipping tea at the windowsill.
Nature anew.
Cleanses itself once more.
Until the next pour.
About the Creator
Invitation to Renga With Me
Ladies and Gentlemen, I am returned. I am envisaging a grand entrance here, a footman perhaps, announcing my arrival, or a both doors flung wide attention grab. That I actually slipped in quietly with an itsy bitsy haiku seems far more in keeping with my actual style. Either way, I am back after an absence of a couple of weeks in which I dedicated myself fully to a family holiday. I could do no different, it has been a very full trip, and a wonderful trip for it. But though I read most of a novel, I took no time to read on Vocal, and no time to write either.
By Hannah Moore4 days ago in Writers
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