In the heat of late afternoon...

by Gary Young

In the heat of late afternoon, lightning streaks from a nearly

cloudless sky to the top of the far mesa. At dusk, the whole south

end of the valley blazes as the clouds turn incandescent with

some distant strike. There is a constant congress here between

the earth and the sky. This afternoon a thunderstorm crossed the

valley. One moment the ground was dry, and the next there were

torrents running down the hillsides and arroyos.

A quarter-mile off I could see a downpour bouncing off the sage and the fine clay

soil. I could see the rain approach, and then it hit, drenching me,

and moved on. Ten minutes later I was dry. The rain comes from

heaven, and we are cleansed by it. Suddenly the meaning of baptism

is clear to me: you can begin again, and we are saved every day.


  1. That's a lovely poem, thanks for sharing it. Is it your own work?


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Hey, thanks for your thoughts and your time:>)

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