Rain Magnet

She lay on her back looking at the sky,
relaxed and concentrating,
melting into the earth and feeling
everything everything in it.

Overhead the clouds came from every direction,
slowly at first,
collecting in great puffy masses,
condensing as their numbers increased,
whirling together in
mottled expectation.

The sky faded to gray,
darkened further as the atmosphere
blotted out the sun.
A few blessed drops
struck the dust of the desert,
created ripples on the surface of the parched earth,

And then the rain came down in torrents,
soaking her hair
and her face
and her clothes.

***

It wasn't imperious,
this coming together,
this gathering.

It wasn't controlling.

It was simply what was:
natural.

Tiring,
to be a magnet
for the rain!
Invigorating!

And open, not hiding,
but not broadcasting either,
because people are afraid
of what they don't understand,

and that wasn't the point,
to make them afraid.

Or to be revered for some strange power,
because it wasn't strange:
it was only
what was.

It wasn't like
gathering the clouds in her arms:
How could anyone gather clouds that
didn't want to be together?

But it was rather like creating a space in herself,
letting herself open to attract the clouds
with the intensity,
like a magnet.

Trusting.