Jeremy Gadd: ‘Weather’


And then the rain came.
Heralded by thunderclaps,
draped in diaphanous grey clouds,
La Niña returned, rolling over
land long barren, her cloudbursts
drenching and slaking the thirst
of parched dirt, returning moisture
to sun-cracked soil and,
wherever brown or red earth
lay dry, rain was now relished,
absorbed, until, sodden like a sponge,
rivulets began to run, gullies
turned into streams and swollen
rivers morphed into inland seas.
And as dust turned to mud and
wizened roots luxuriated in liquid
like hikers soaking weary feet,
what were recently deserts bloomed,
migratory birds returned to
deserted places and marsupials
decided it was time to mate:
tanks and dams overflowed and,
as precious run-off was lost down
storm drains, the voices of doomsayers
declaring it would never rain again
were drowned by the raucous
croaking of celebrating frogs.

Jeremy Gadd

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