The clouds hang heavy with their burden
the low rumble of the thunder
echoes across the miles.
The moon and stars are smothered
by the great black wings of the storm.
Is it raining where you are?
The rising wind rises,
and the last few leaves of autumn
begin the storm's strange ritualistic dance,
and the first few drops of rain
kiss the feet of Mother Earth
My blessing to you, dear friend
may the sun be shining upon you,
may it light your precious face
while I stand here quietly
and contented -
in the blessed heart of the storm,
in the rain.
My friend, how I wish you
were here
to call me into the warmth
and out of the storm.

C.G.