Communing

Just spent 20 minutes walking in a thunderstorm while eating rippled chips from a bag like it was an action movie. For the last 10, I put my umbrella away and listened to In the Name of Angels and Let It Be (Groove Coverage, not the Beatles) out of my iPhone in my pocket without the use of headphones.

 

I am now sitting with both windows open, enjoying an encroaching rumble as I savour my last two gulps of Famous Grouse. It's a glorious evening. I thought I'd share a pair of poems inspired by the advent and indulgence of the storm:

 

Blessed

 

A single rain-drop

On your up-turned lips

Is exactly like

A kiss from God.

 

 

Rise

 

Man is born

Not to gaze

Into the ground

But to look up

And paint

His irises

With the majesty

Of the sky.