Lluvia (Rain)

Lluvia (Rain)

tap tap tap
on the terra cotta roof tiles
little polka dots on the balcony railing
the smell of earth and soil
or clean laundry
that’s how it arrives.
on a refreshing, cool breeze 
rustling the palm leaves
and fluttering the straw sun shades
then, like a truck approaching
its tires pressing on the asphalt
a deluge begins! 
rain, delicious, wet rain.
fantastic, cleansing rain.
followed by flashes of light
a breath-taking show over the sea
rumbles and crackles of thunder
Mother Nature singing her mad song
until she exhausts herself
leaving only the drip drip drip 
of droplets falling from the rooftop. 

This is a fresh new poem, written while in Mexico for 5 weeks to escape the cold of the midwest in the US. Every day there seems to bring blue sky, loads of sunshine, and delicious warmth. On rare occasion we are treated to a short bit of rain. This may be the first time in 16 years of visiting that we had a real thunder/lightening storm! It was late afternoon and a welcome treat.

All I Take

All I Take

All I take
I carry as bits of light, 
scattered within me, 
to hold at home,
memories, morsels of deliciousness: 

bird song dancing through the air
palm leaves feathering the breeze
water glittering to the blue sky
surf massaging the rocky earth
shells swimming to the shore
sun crawling from horizon to horizon
stars repeating age-old stories
moon reeling in waves like a fisherman
sea calming to a waveless pool

when we jumped in
letting go of
all we brought
inviting each moment
as a peaceful meditation

I wrote this poem in San Agustinillo Mexico earlier this year. As we move into fall and I anticipate what’s on the other side: winter, my mind and my heart escape to the warm sands and sea of Oaxaca.

being the moon

moon over San Agustinillo, Mexico
Being the moon

Rumi said, look at the moon,
how it grows brighter 
as it patiently tolerates 
the dark night. 
Oh, that I could be a moon
shining brightly,
even as darkness is growing,
to be luminous and glowing, 
so open and full 
that hopes and dreams
are offered to me.
How I would hold them
in the softness of my palm,
wrap them all in calm stillness,
set them free into the realm of possibility
where the sun carries them into being. 

If you love the moon as I do, you might be interested in another poem I wrote: the moon speaking.