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I like to think
That when it rains, the thunder encloses our small city
In a soft gray blanket.
We are cut off from the complications and distractions
Of the outside world
And all there is
Has been
And ever will be
Is the white noise of rain.
I like to think
That when it drip-drops down from the leaves
Showing us the simple beauties
Of ripples in puddles
And quiet crackles of bright yellow,
It wraps us up tight in that blanket.
It rocks us to sleep,
Content in the misty gray fog
And the pitter-patter of rain,
The low rumbles of thunder and the golden lightning.

Rain Celie Kreilkamp
Celie Kreilkamp, 12
Bloomington, Indiana