Pause for thought: There are days when the heavens open

There are days when the heavens open,

we are blinded by water, shocking,

sudden as a dam-burst. We hold out

our hands, overflowing, and it streams

down our arms, down our throats, down

into the soil, making clay underfoot.

Newly washed in the rain, we dance.

Staring up at the relentless blue,

breathing dust that lifts from our feet,

we are sun-bleached, parched. Fingers

scrabble in the dirt, searching, digging

a makeshift well. Water pools, silted

and stained, but we cradle it in the cup

of our hands, in remembrance of rain.

Ruth James