Another Sunday Poem

The October Garden
by Molly Fisk

If you were zinnia, still bright
in the October garden and I the last
orange cosmos. If you were catmint blue
draping yourself over the cinder block wall
and I the weed coming up through gravel.
If you were the bamboo pole, listing
under the weight of late green tomatoes
that will never ripen now, and I
the frayed string that binds them. If
you were heavy purple grapes dangling
over the canted railing and I the feasting
thrush. If you were summer's echo
in yellow coreopsis and I the tall sedum,
autumn-flushed. If you were the sun
breaking slant over that little grove of aspens
across the street, if you were hummingbird's
quick wing, if you were winter coming on
or the studious worm and I the turned
earth, the patch of moss beneath an oak,
the oak's sharp-edged leaf ready to crackle
underfoot, the white-throated sparrow's
familiar three descending notes in a minor
key, oh, if only I were sometimes
you and you were me.

-

This was a marvelous weekend. It was filled with gales of rain and laughter, cuddles and pie. We had family time and wedding time and couple time and alone time. And it was perfect.

Happy Friday the 13th!

Did you know that today, 13 November 2009, is the third Friday the 13th this year? And that three is the maximum number of times Friday the 13th can occur in any given year?

If not, now you do! And if you did, well done, have a hug or a biscuit.

Now for the Friday Five!

1. I have a three day weekend.
2. It has been raining for two days. And I love it.
3. I am planning some really cool things for our wedding and I am so excited about them. And so excited to be marrying C.
4. C and I are so incredibly happy together that it is disgusting sometimes. I wonder how I even got this lucky? I sometimes feel like I am cheating life, because there is no way I deserve this.
5. Maryland in 10! (TEN!!!!) 10 days. So very excited.

my confession and a memory.

On average, it rains 200 days per year in England. Over that two-hundred or so days, it rains more than 30 inches.

I love rain. I love the way it sounds, the way it feels, even the way it smells. I love rolling thunder and waiting for giant webs of lightening to cover the sky. The damp, earthy smells that rise during the rain make me feel happy and alive.

Many of my childhood memories include rain. Or snow. But mostly rain.

The first time I realised how much I love the rain, I was four or five years old. It was one of those sticky summer nights, where the humidity is hanging in the air. Suddenly, a crisp breeze came through the window and cut through my bed sheet. I remember shivering, tingling like I had just swallowed minty ice cream. There was a growling and grumbling sound from the sky; thunder. CRACK! Lightening lit up the sky and the yard. Rain hurled from the sky soaking everything. The thunder and lightening continued. I lay in my bed and watched intently. I wanted to be closer.

I climbed out of bed, brushed the toys from my bedside table, climbed back onto the bed, and stepped gingerly on the top of the table. I had to stand on the table to see out of my windows! The small rectangular windows were two thirds of the way up my bedroom walls and only a foot high. I needed to inspect the storm more closely and my bedside table was the best tool for the job.

Standing on the table, peering out of the window, I stood for what seemed like hours, admiring the storm. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone. I stood on the table, looking out of the window, willing the storm to come back. When it did not, I reluctantly climbed down and into bed.

Still, decades later, I have a love affair with rain and storms. If bad storms are predicted, I wait almost impatiently for their arrival. I sit in the window, watching, occasionally narrating what is happening. If I am caught out in a storm and I feel it is safe (little/no lightening), I will sometimes just keep walking in it until I am soaked. Soaking in rainwater, droplets running off my nose and eyelashes and hair is my agnostic confessional. Except I don't have to talk or repent. The rain just washes everything away for me.