Two days of constant rain after weeks of no rain at all.
Looking out at the dripping garden
reminds me of other rainy days.
Cold, driving, childhood rain…
the water dripping down my bare legs
and into my gumboots.
Rain feeding the Hutt River…
I lean over the edge of Moonshine Bridge,
and watch branches swirling in the swollen waters.
Peering through the greasy window of an airport bus…
the tracks of rain matching the ones on my cheeks.
Today in Christchurch they thirst for rain…
And yesterday, I welcomed it, too.
But not today.
Jane Percival, 16 February 2017
The windows rattle.
Outside, the lawn is mottled with smashed leaves
from the cottonwood.
Flax pods heavy with rain thud against each other.
A tui clings for dear life, and is whisked away.
The Northeasterly is not kind to my garden.
Branches snap, flowers shred,
It passes through the mosquito mesh.
Invisible fingers lift the tapa cloth off the wall
then let if fall.
I’m reminded of Nalauaki.
Torrential rain is its companion.
Waves break against the stainless steel flue.
A million tiny coral flecks rattling with shells.
It’s been so long since it’s been windy.
I’d almost forgotten.
Jane Percival, March 2016
First Day of Spring
Three days of rain have drenched the land
forming rippling mirrors in the grass
and a flock of dishevelled, wet hens.
A river of caramel water
runs at the edge of the gravel road
then ducks beneath the concrete pipe
at the end of our driveway.
Bright green leaves are freshly washed.
A song thrush calls from high up in the silver poplar
and Molly is perched on a chunk of concrete,
keeping her paws dry.
This morning I stomped around in my gumboots
hoping to capture memories of the water
but the thirsty earth had already swallowed
most of them.
The land at South Head imitates a sponge.
Formed from ancient dunes
it doesn’t allow water to rest here for long.
Jane Percival, 01 September 2015