Several miles above the city

Clouds conspire together
Whispering how best to turn the sky to grey.

In the middle of the night

Do you sometimes hear a sound and wake?
But know it’s just the rain?

Walking on a mountaintop

Does the harsh wind blow solely to sweep clean the Earth,
Or to conceal the future beneath a sheet of dust?

Caught in the rain while walking home from work

A man looks up, clutching his soggy jacket close against the gale
And wonders if, perhaps, God has a sense of humor after all.

In a tribal fashion

To get out of being forced to play outside with his baby sister
A boy paints his face with yellow stripes and jumps up and down on his bed, hollering for rain.

Looking for inspiration

The writer glances wryly out the picture window
And hopes that it would rain—that would be something.