Cloud cover and rainy days
challenge my wings.
I enjoy the change, the rumbling
of intention, flashes of
heavenly combat releasing
mist before it pours.
Rain is the old of the skies
washing everything new.
Like a baby waking, crying
over everything, making day
come to them.
Rain brings up a delirium
of joy. I charge onto a path
without the sun hiding
its face, not far on the upside of
clouds, in the atmosphere of
Infinity.
There are no bad days of rain,
just a coat, hat and a spirit
willing to get wet.
Roger Singer 