Last night I stood sleepless at my upstairs window,
listening to the nocturnal rains sluicing down, watching
the womb of the world burst open in the spectral light
of street lamps, transforming domesticated thoroughfare
into a raging river. Sleep could not come while the rain lashed
my roof, and trees outside creaked ominously, while thunder
growled its husky warning across the sky.
This morning, to my eyes, the street and the world
look washed clean, renewed in last night’s birth
waters. A feeble sun tentatively emerges, steam
gently rising from the sodden cement street and pathways.
Another day safely delivered.
The afterbirth of storm debris washes away, and a new day
emerges from the labor, offering me hope once more. My
thoughts go to the stray animals, and the homeless. Did they
survive? Where did they go? Existence for so many a
constant battle for survival. I feel gratitude wash over me like
the purifying waters of baptism, like a blessing of renewal.
—
Susan P. Blevins, ex-pat Brit, traveled the world extensively, lived in Italy for 26 years, Taos, New Mexico for 14 years, and now lives in Houston, Texas, where she enjoys writing stories and poetry about her travels and life experiences. She had a weekly column on food in a European newspaper and has published articles on gardens in US and European magazines. She is now widely published in literary magazines in the USA and elsewhere.
