Alone in the Rain?

Rain falls hard
enclosing me in this wonderful prison of a porch
where I write.
Flowers in their pots nod to the grass
where clover opens its arms
happy for a morning drink.

 

What could be better
than this din around me
that sends the impatient robin onto a branch
dry among the spruce boughs 
and the phoebe to its spot under our eaves? 
(The same spot where its ancestors have huddled for decades
after dropping white, digested bugs onto our clean porch rail.)

Am I alone feeling joy 
in the dark above me?
Seeing sky that hovers between gray and gone; 
between up and down.
almost touching the earth
with opalescent wisps of moisture?

What other of God's creatures
could so patiently sit
surrounded by rain,
rain that is almost quiet 
in its monotonous drum?


Could any Other be out there
like me, feeling alone
and being quite okay with that?

No, it is just me.
Just me.
Me, alone with God, on this hill 
inspired by the rain 
to do what I am led to do,
to play my part
in this lovely drenched world.

Alone. 

Alone? 

Yes, I am sure.

Almost. 

Maybe not.

Am I alone?