And the soft rain

Last night
the rain
spoke to me
slowly, saying,

what joy
to come falling
out of the brisk cloud…

That’s what it said
as it dropped,

smelling of iron,
and vanished…

Then it was over.
The sky cleared.
I was standing

under a tree.
The tree was a tree
with happy leaves,
and I was myself,

and there were stars in the sky
that were also themselves
at the moment
at which moment

my right hand
was holding my left hand
which was holding the tree
which was filled with stars

and the soft rain –
imagine! imagine!
the long and wondrous journeys
still to be ours.
- What Do We Know by Mary Oliver