We will call it the Spring of Storms.
We will tell stories of this rain, the
wild-fires of wind. We will remember
full brown rivers overflowing, houses
blown down, washed away. When
sun returns the flowers will bloom.
We will plant our tomatoes and peas
and nap under new roofs, and maybe
now and again, when the nights are
filled with thunder we will rouse in
the thick heats of summer as from
a distant dream and remember
all these nights of falling water.
PS: This was written before the terrible storms devastated Alabama and other parts of the southeast. I regret that my words may sound a bit cavalier in how quickly we might recover and forget. These storms have taken lives, and changed whole communities forever. I add my prayers to those of people all over this country for those whose lives lay in the path of the winds.