Falling Skyward

By Gray Davidson

Rain falls in sheets,

And though I am dry,

I feel the weight of water,

Bowing my head.

But who am I

To say it falls?

And but for sodden aftermath,

The sky might just as well

Be drinking its fill of the earth.

My eye cannot follow

The falling of the rain,

Or, if you will,

Its rising.

I can merely sit,

Behind a framework

Of wood and cobwebs,

And watch the rain

Fall skyward.

The image is of a grey world, outside the open entrance to the lower bunks at Sky Meadow. The outside world is obscured by the falling water, and I sit inside, perhaps cross-legged on the flagstones there, and watch it fall…or rise…