Today it Rains
Today it rains.
Yesterdays’ blue skies and fishback clouds
are gone. It is grey,
and the air is moist and cold.
Tomorrow they say, it will snow.
Here in the middle of April, it will snow.
Or maybe not. One of the lessons of old age
is that they are as wrong as right.
The prognosticators, whatever drives them:
science, rumors or prejudice,
are part of a guessing game,
a shell game played by drunk magicians,
and we, more the fools, play along,
until we don’t. Until we cease
looking back and looking forward,
like toddlers at the road,
and learn to simply say
“Today, it rains.”
About this poem
This was supposed to be a long poem. Probably should have been an essay. But in the end I cut off the bottom two thirds. I fell into my own trap, playing futures.
Today it rains. Good enough because it is now enough.