Mud

The sea gulls are in from the beaches,

Wheeling above the roof tops —

(Kiirr, kiirr, skreeik!

Such lovely voices they have) — or

On the grass in the park,

Like a flock of well-behaved cockies;

A brightly white grazing bird mass.

The gulls are in from the beaches.

Soon we’ll have some proper inclement weather;

Skies of storm-cloud, wind and rain howling, and

Perhaps if we are good,

LIGHTNING!

Enjoyable, memorable, coming with thunder,

Blustering unchallenged to skies east in elsewhere.

Soon it will be back to ordinary,

Water retreating to safety ‘neath lush green grass,

Or spread all wet and puddly on asphalt.

(What a way to go!)

Weather must be really bad to be really good.

I hate cold wet miserable gray glum old days to gloom, and

I hate mud, but

Squiddily, iddily, uddily, squd

Sometimes there are no times like those spent in mud,

But you need a steam-cleaning to be human again,

And a steam-cleaning’s fun;

So bring on the rain!

Bridh Hancock