First Rain

After months without,    
it comes unapologetically —    
greying skies had been hinting a couple of days,    
the wind adding its signal of change,    
dry ground licking its lips in anticipation,    
believing reward for good behaviour, resilience and fruitful labour    
was soon due.    
My months    
of faithful watering throughout the Summer,    
viewed by plants as discriminatory and laced with ignorant bias,    
are swept into history as the whole region is soaked,    
equally —    
generating gasping hours of sensual bliss    
across the landscape.    
In the garden    
delicate petals of a second flowering    
of roses are hurled onto the hammered ground    
during the grand finale of a massive tropical deluge.    
   
Suddenly it stops, like a passing motorcade - gone;    
and sounds of glistened dripping fill the air.    
I step outside to smell the moment,    
that once-a-year reminder of salvation’s cycle,    
and pick up some petals    
arrange them mandala-like on an old plate    
where they lie in state    
before being buried back    
into the wet    
earth.