After the rain came,
In a great pulsing return,
Like old friends reconvened,
Their hiatus, of generations,
Watching salmon move on
From the filling pools,
Only to falter in skinny water,
And return to the quiet depths,
And hopefully sweeter respite.
.
With storm winds fading over night,
Days resume their routine:
Morning’s great bridge aglow,
Providing free passage,
To the quiet witnesses
Of nights reclaim.
Shaken Rain 