Night Rain
Night Rain.
Rain at night.
A silk shroud.
Slipping silently in whispered steps
past sleeping trees
caressing finger tips touching the world
a reminder of the oldest story,
the world turns.
A night owl child, walks easily through this sleeping house
visiting each familiar groan and creak
ancient floor boards speak stories from trees hidden under old carpets
stories of feet and the lives they carried
running fingertips along the shaped stories in worn banisters,
moving through quiet darkness,
a flight path, a dream,
a rain drop called earthward, to remind the earth
of something forgotten but beloved
a residue of joy, a memory of life.
Night rain.
