Reflections in the Rain

I sit spent and vacant,
listening to the pitter-patter of rain
gently fall against the canvas roof,
the backyard silent, but for the bluejay’s
relentless squawks, most likely chiding
me about the empty feeder. “Once a week”
I told them, yet they don’t seem to care.

The cat patrols her restricted territory,
restless to go beyond and prowl. There’s
very little activity in the backyard; chipmunks
most likely sheltering from the storm. She
likes to stalk them from the wildflower patch.
Does she not understand that rain offers us
a moment of pause and reflection?

Do the clouds hold all the answers?
Have the gods suddenly decided to release
universal knowledge with every drop of water?
Is Athena finally breaking her silence? How
do I sort through the puddles and determine
which ones are mine to ponder? Water makes
its way through a seam above and drips onto my lap.

Mom calls and reminds me that it’s been a while,
and much like the prodigal son, I should return
her calls. The joke is old, but I do my best to laugh
because she needs it. The distance can be frustrating,
but there is comfort in not being available at the drop
of a hat. I hear the whines of the harnessed cat,
her leash most likely tangled in the bushes.

Dark skies open up to a deluge,
hammering an already saturated ground.
Is this the storm that does the basement
in? My new home ownership fears seep in,
and I, too, become restless. I wonder how much
our minds can absorb before the dams are compromised
and floodwaters spill over into the world beyond.