Spring Rain

“We need the rain,” we tell ourselves

even as we complain under our breaths

about the inconvenience this shower brings,

the mess of mud tracked in, and the damp,

dashing door to door, the rain soaking us,

our clothes sticking to wet skin, cold and harsh

on arms and legs bared to the sun’s warmth,

the mustiness of spring rain rising, sharp

and earthy; “yet too soon,” we think, for umbrellas

and slickers awaiting summer storms, more predictable,

for we are caught unaware, again,

unaware this spring season of rain,

lured out by climbing temps and sunshine

to be reminded “We need the rain,”

need the rain to remind us who we are,

subject to the seasons of nature changing,

changing in her own time, changing in her own way.