The Best Day Ever

God Thunder rolls his black clouds by, and fearsome the Ninja-like slash of lightning brings the rain, that which we forties' schoolgirls caught in buckets to shampoo our hair, then-- a vinegar rinse. Such purity these vanished days of natural grace that dare not erase a woeful world we never thought to live in, not even the rain can wash away. And, now the rain comes, its music, its perfumed aroma, its entry when leaves have stopped their movements, have climaxed, sit quiet now in respectful release, even while lightning still splits the sky, and the great God Thunder sends me to my knees before his wrath, benign though it may be, anytime it brings the poem, it is the best day ever.