is here. My Dad is a happy guy. He loves rain. Well, he ought to get a kick out of this; it’s really coming down.

Did you know that the word weather is sometimes abbreviated Wx? It’s true. So here’s a Wx poem for you, from several years ago.

BETWEEN STORMS

Sad, how the clouds gather again
against the small hills
for reasons I cannot comprehend,
and how I stand here watching
the last boat carrying men
from oil rigs in the cast iron sea.

Sad, how all the gulls are home
asleep, having eaten all day,
how I see the shadow of the clock
on the water, its hands turning
from island to harbor
to the tender sand beneath my feet.

So sad, how finally I am rising up,
falling in a long arc
into the mountains of darkness.

© J. Kyle Kimberlin
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