Monte Bello Rain Poem

Monte Bello Rain Poem

 

Raindrops on my windshield

pop like skaters on white ice,

their sequins catching light

as might a nickel in a fountain.

 

Art Pepper’s mournful horn

plays the mist its own low waltz;

I feel my heart’s rising temperature,

one degree with every mile.

 

I am becoming

what the owl cannot see,

what the hawk cannot catch,

what the mist cannot reveal.



Categories: Monte Bello, Wine & Poetry

Tags: , , ,

1 reply

  1. Ummmmmmmmm Yes.
    Whether the weather be cold,
    Or whether the weather be hot,
    We must weather the weather
    Whatever the weather,
    Whether we like it or not!

    This from a cold but wet England – yup, that one across the pond!

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