01 December 2015


A lovely bit of gentle rain tonight to start the summer as the calendar marks it.

I played flute and shakuhachi with the rain for an hour, walked bare foot on the grass in the back yard and then went for a short run where I composed this poem.

The song of the rain
Is no easy song to play.
It is the earth,
Pregnant with one million scents
Waiting to flower.
And still, it is the song of the One.
The song of the rain
Is no song to play,
But only, to be.


Read about petrichor at The Conversation or Wikipedia.

Oh yeah, it's a bit weird, I feel like my current ink palette matches the counter top I often write on, although I didn't consciously mix it up that way.


This too I wrote before I went to sleep. 

The past has no reality. 
The waves of time
sweep the shore
of my life clean. 


I want to say also, when I woke up the next day, I really felt like the rain had kept me company, like a friend, and we had enjoyed a conversation. 

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