rain for our many kinds of loss

the season of rain is coming.  already it beats cold on rooftops, rough on pavements, and soft on grass, on mists, in the middle of nights or in the break of mornings.  a number of people are growing colds (myself included) and a number of plants bloom in this odd time of in between seasons.  some didn't make it past the scorch of summer.  some still trying to survive, holding on to this last stretch of distance between dry now and tomorrow's rain.  

for what ever it lets us, the rain, how it is both gift and loss.  also, an embrace and a promise of gentler things to come.  see, the softer earth, ripe for planting; see the buds beginning to hesitate, growing drowsy with the weight of its dreams of coming summers; birds migrating in numbers.  it's a loss, and a flight from it, towards gentler things to come.