It’s like those times after a wet summer,
when each brief spell of sun
allows you some sense of faith
before the next downpour steals that faith away.
then one day, when you are dressed for fine weather –
reflecting the morning’s temperate promise –
the rain shoots down with a vengeance,
drenching you with its pent-up rage,
blocking the drains and making a river of the street
before ceasing as suddenly as it came,
and the clouds all blow away
leaving a rainbow, like
a vow, or at least an apology.
As your sodden feet tread through the puddles,
you find it difficult to believe
there will be no storm tomorrow.
©Jane Paterson Basil