Precipitation: a deposit on the earth of hail, mist, rain, sleet, or snow;
the quantity of water deposited.

Have I mentioned that I live in the Pacific Northwest? The precipitous PNW? It has rained and hailed and snowed and rained and hailed and rained and hailed and sleeted so often that “April Showers” seems way too mild a tune. It’s also been damn cold.

In a few hours it will be May 1st and the local weatherman will be able to report the precipitation totals for April.

During the spring of 1999 it rained every day for three months. I wrote a poem about it:

Another Rainy Day

Gray streaks filter the landscape,
vertical Venetian blinds
shutting me off from the trees,
the mossy fence
the ducks on the pond.

A stand of sodden daffodils
stagger beside the gate trying
to cheer me,
but a few pale splashes of yellow
won’t convince my bleak soul to crack a smile.

We’re supposed to be used to rain
but this is ridiculous.
I hear they’ve had ninety days straight
in Seattle.
Ninety-five in Corvallis.

Sunday morning the sun surprised us
Shining on our coffee cups.
We ran outside
to capture the light.
With this competition
surely no one would go to church.

By ten the rain was back.
The faithful trooped forth,
umbrellas aloft.
The minister said he would have
preferred the sun to the crowd.

One response to “Precipitation

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