The Best Day Ever

God Thunder rolls his black clouds by and fearsome the Ninja-like slash of lightning brings finally the longed-for rain, which we, forties' high-school girls caught in buckets outside our doorway to wash our hair, such purity these long gone days of natural grace that dares not erase a woeful world we never dreamed to live in, not even the rain can rinse away. And, now, rain comes, its music, its perfumed fragrance, its entry when the trees have stopped their undulations, have climaxed, sit quiet now in holy release. Rain brings its healing, its hope of renewal, even while lightning still separates the sky and the great God Thunder sends me to my knees before his wrath, benign as it is, and anytime it brings the poem, it is the best day ever.