Waiting for the Sun

 

Despite the continual rain and the dank smell of dampness, 
the dirt turned to mud, the sound of water rushing through 
a down-sprout, I know that this will end. A deluge of catastrophic 
proportions won't happen this year. How can I remain in this 
state of safety when darkness descends without a blink of sunlight, 
when waters take silt and creep beyond boundaries, when flash 
floods approach within a roar and gnaw and devour sand, 
when the prediction is for more rain.