The salt and savory, sweet and sour;
The flavor of man’s touch around
The musky grass, the delicate flower.
Their misty touch remembers all,
From morning light to midnight hour.
Rain sweeps down to wash the soil,
To polish, carve, collect, and sweep.
To end its soft, relentless toil,
And fill vast basins, wide and deep.
The power of its restless flow,
Remembers all it’s wont to keep.
Snow falls softly from grey skies,
Clouds and rain are bound in ice,
To hide from Nature’s weary eyes
The unhealed scars, the painful price.
The memories of clouds and rain,
Of Earth’s enduring sacrifice.
Mick McKellar
May 2020
When the snow melts each Spring, the memories of last year’s storms and activity are laid bare for all to see. Otherwise, only the clouds and the rain remember…
Mick
