Ok, I’ll admit it… I forgot about ‘poetry monday’ yesterday, but in my defence I was rushing to attend the fourth hockey tournament in 7 days (that is 14 games, folks… just saying…) …
Two out of the four competition were played and watched in the pouring rain, so a poem about rain seems appropriate, right?
“Last night the rain spoke to me” by Mary Oliver
Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,
what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud,
to be happy again
in a new way
on the earth!
That’s what it said
as it dropped,
smelling of iron,
and vanished
like a dream of the ocean
into the branches
and the grass below.
Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing
under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,
and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment
at which moment
my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars
and the soft rain—
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.
Have a good week.
while you're ahead... 
I really must buy myself a volume of Mary Oliver’s poems. Do you know the work of Jane Kenyon?
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Mary Oliver, though a master with words, is clearly not a sportsperson. Or someone required to watch other people doing sport. Or launder their kit.
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