The Question of How

The rain is due in later this evening.
The sky grows darker by the hour,
even now, hours before sunset.

There is no way to know if it will be mere rain
or a storm. Not yet. And so you stand
at the top of the ridge just beyond your home,

Theoretically watching the clouds as they come in.

That’s the theory, what you said as you left the house
and it’s warmth, to hike up the ridge and stand
like some sort of sage, looking out. far.

But that is not the truth. You are not looking out
but within, barely seeing the dark clouds
or smelling the approaching rain. If there are storms

they are not here, not in the sky you look through.
They are somewhere within, swirling, darkening
more than the sky.

No matter. It is the advantage of age.
You have survived so much you were sure you would not.
It is a strange kind of assurance, that survival,

so now, as the storm comes there is no doubt
of your survival, only the question
of how.

About this poem

There are some advantages of age. I like storms of the rain variety. I find them romantic. Poetry is never about one thing.

The picture was taken in Massachutsitts.