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We had forgotten rain,
the softness of green grass,
the smell of wet earth,
the sound of swollen creeks;
raindrops on our tongue.

Our world had become a dry place,
the ground crisp beneath our feet,
forests transformed into tinder.
We lived in fear
of the careless spark.

When it returned to us,
the heavens opened.
We danced, arms uplifted,
joyous.

Children asked us;
“What is this water
that falls from the sky?”
Laughing,
we took them in our arms
and baptized them in the deluge.

The grass grows lush,
the earth smells sweet,
the creeks sing a boisterous song
and we open our mouths to the sky.

The rain has remembered us.

Brigit Zent Jan. 2017

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