Perhaps it was my January birth
that bred me to adore a winter storm,
but I appreciate when rain hits earth,
and comfort means to me a haven warm
and cozy when it’s pouring cold outside.
Each autumn I look forward to the rain.
Though leaks and rising creeks pre-occupied
me now and then, I harbor water-brain.

I used to surge with anger in a drought.
I’d daily read the forecast and I’d rage
against high pressure, as I chilled without
the sound of water. Maybe it’s my age
of late, for though I mourn as we stay dry,
I’m weary of rebelling at blue sky.