I love the rainy, fecund springs we had when we lived in New England. Tried to capture it in this poem published today by Red Eft Review.
It has rained for days—sometimes early fog
and a gentle mist that reminds me of the moors;
sometimes the wind and drench of squalls
from the Atlantic. Flowers love this spring,
but worms sprawl helpless on sidewalks
and die in the first patch of sun. The dog
comes home bedraggled from his walks,
happy and shaking on the stoop. I drape
my slicker over a chair with a towel beneath
to catch the drops, brew some tea, open
my journal. A perfect morning.
Sarah Russell Poetry 