After the mad dash to shut the windows,
we don’t go back to doing stuff,
we just sit on the balcony
paying obeisance to the storm.
Rain, thunder, lightning.
We sit on our balcony just being. Watching.
Not doing, or achieving,
we’re stretching the limits of our being
so we can be filled with more emptiness.
We sit and watch the storm.

Ambulances start within minutes,
I have never checked to see if there’s a correlation
though when I hear the sirens,
“flood!” is always what flashes in my mind.

The smell rising to greet us,
has a word all its own, petrichor,
the smell parched earth gives up like a prayer,
a word I have to look up every time,
a treasure hunt brought about by my aging memory.
Two ancient words put together,
it means stone releasing the fluid
that runs in the veins of the gods in place of blood
– a good thing –
as you can’t get blood from a stone.

The Thunder is distant now, or spent, who knows.
Safe in my house I thank the rain and the thunder.

A kookaburra laughs in the distance
but we all know it’s not really laughing,
we all know we needed this rain right now
we all know that at least the trees are happy.