A Dripping Presence

The overcast gloom that brought us
overnight raging winds and torrents of rain
have subsided, the sky turned from charcoal
to gentle grey, the wind and the rain both abated,
one to a cool breeze, the other a dripping
presence. A light veil of mist curtains
the woods, rising in streamers from the
darkly funneled creek, rising and swelling
to the areas above the cavity of the ravine.

The forest floor is dark and sodden
dank. Yet the newly leafed trees are
brilliant with the fresh coating of emerald
laid on with nature's late spring brush,
glowing in the dimly overcast light. A
humped, ebony-dark crow lifts from
the broken mast of a shattered pine,
breaking the stillness of the day.

Woodland flora seem not to care for
the absence of the sun's glowing warmth,
bathing in the spray of the rain falling
on the delicate white froth of the uplifted
foamflowers, the white, starry bloom
of bunchberry, nestled complacently
in their comfortable green nest.

The coy curl of the green-purple-striped
petal of the secretively splendid
Jack-in-the-Pulpit offering a sacrament
to another extraordinary day, for even
gloom in nature has an ethereal, transitory
beauty that elevates all who behold it.