Enjoying the storm

I want the Earth to talk to me,
to listen to its call,
to hear its winds awhispery,
even a stormy squall.

I'm glad for weather's vibrancy,
a living Earth for me,
no more the quiet sight
of rainless day and windless night.

The past few nights we've had rain, and thunder, and lightning. Our bully black cat, Jeda, curls up on our bed in the throes of it, raowing his concern. This morning, a tornado watch and flood advisory were issued for the area... take shelter inside, move away from windows.

The Earth speaks to me again. I hadn't realized quite how much I missed her capricious ways. In Southern California the weather is mostly predictably boring. I'm sure many of you will think me odd; who wouldn't want the regularity of sunshine? But there is something charming and delightful, something worldly, gritty, real about weeds cropping up where wind or bird dropped their seeds, rather than only where irrigation nourishes. Fickle rains for me!

Hearing Silence

Hearing silence: deafening.
There is no shame in deafness.
Not in hearing lies the fault.

I strain my eyes at silent walls,
dull with grey, speckled by doubt,
and wonder if vision's gone awry.

Why do I look?
Walls will not change of their own.
They have no voice to speak.

Yet there is a voice that speaks.
No use wondering why I don't hear it.
Perhaps all I need ... is listen.

The Polished Glass of Pure Perfection

The polished glass of pure perfection
cannot be seen from where I stand.

Like the moon,
or the eyes of a portrait,
it shifts as I move,
only--unlike them--
it hides.

Just a glimpse,
I desire.
Just a peek.

What radiance would I see?
What mysteries unfold?

But I see no reflection:
not of me,
nor the room,
nor anything I can fathom.

I fall back on my knowledge,
my belief,
my suspicion,
my fear.

Is it there?

(29 January 2008)