This last day of August I was hoping I’d be first On the seafront But there’s always someone up earlier than me. With my camera in hand I watched. The seagulls were up and about They were busy Circling the empty beach. On the horizon my sleepy thoughts sat Arm in arm with the sun She was all dressed up in pumpkin orange. I could see a flock of white turns Flying in hairpin bends beneath angry clouds, Crisp white columns Towering a hundred cathedrals above But they were all for show. It didn’t rain. The sky was all in vain Yes, to our dismay the clouds cried off. Again. We waited for hours but the only tears were ours. Where you will find rain for sure Is in this town's prayers. Some of us are beginning to wonder If it might be worth a try To strike a deal, Go all in and kneel, How desperate is the need for water, The diamond of all. I saw on the news They are trying to seed some rain! They have given up on prayers, There are no stairs. They’re flying up, Those magnificent men with their toys! To harvest the clouds? Alchemists in their flying machines Are spraying the skies?? I’m not sure I understand. How can we plough the sky? Isn’t it just air? Isn’t the sky the very home of turmoil? What if it rains On the wrong, Soil? In mid-air...I don't see how you can plan; And no more on Pakistan They’ve had more than they can stand Lives, livelihoods and homes drowned in suffocating mud The tragedy of the floods is difficult to bear Worrying all this I watched the birds. How they lift their bodies off the sand, Wings outstretch, They turn towards the sea and they’re up. How calm they are in the face of a storm. I let them lead the way for me today. I listen to their mantra, Stay with the present. A wave washes back to the sea I listen to its breath, Be present, Being present, is everything. I focus on small oval pebbles Singled out by the sea, Flat and belly-up Emanating calm. Molten sunshine curls around them It hugs their glistening black cool bodies. Somewhere there are huge ancient stones That stand tall in circles, Made of the very same. Shrines made of unpolished stone Have heard prayers for water before. They could tell us the story When the town was so worried about water, How they prayed at the altar. The temples were built on worry Built long before machines with wings Before artificial chemicals and things. I breath in deeper than before Under this vast sky we share And now I understand As I watch the sea leaving the pebbles behind. The stones. I can hear their call, I promise, They’re calling for rain.
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