A lonely, dry plain
Waits as far, far away
The sun boils the
Oceans,
Lakes,
Rivers,
And vapor rises into the
Heart of the sky.
Gathering together and growing
And growing until
The blessed water cloud is born.
And still it keeps growing,
Heavier and heavier until
Finally
The barrier is broken and
Water pours down upon
The dying grass.
What joy it is
To see the green return,
To have that feeling of
Soft grass beneath your feet,
And race through the blades,
Flowers,
Clovers,
And the bursting feeling of
Free.
Free!
Free!
That is at once
Overwhelming and
Liberating.
And then to just sit.
Sit and breathe and revel
In the freedom,
The joy–
In the hopeful belief that
The cycle will begin again