My friend Diane is very ill. She is a woman of great energy and courage who has lived her life with passion and integrity. I love her dearly and want to share here a poem she wrote which reflects the way she faces life.
The rain runs down my face
like mascara on a hot day, melts
on my arms like warm mayonnaise,
dampens my clothes as if it came
from an old-fashioned laundry
bottle with a sprinkle top, dispenses
water to iron my wrinkled clothes.
It matters not where I am
or was, walking barefoot
through puddles and creeks
with my best friend beside me,
swimming in a lake, exploring
a city I've never seen, half a
world away, anywhere.
When I came from a rainy climate
I said that was why, but later said
the same when the new climate was
dry, tropical, marine, desert, arctic.
It matters not. Life remains equal.
Nothing protects, nothing shields.
My choice. Rain. Life. The same.
When the rain comes
I have nothing to deflect it,
no urge to escape to an inside
room, no feelings of coldness
or dampness, no fear of what
might escort it, nothing at all.
No umbrellas for pouring rain.