Someday I will run
to where the thunderstorms
go, when all is said and done.
Someday I will find
the land where I can walk
and the wind will brush
by my ears with a secret
message about the thunder lords and ladies.
They are coming,
she will whisper,
then giggle
and dart off to find the next
solitary traveler, spreading her news.

The clouds, like snow leopard scouts,
will raise their fearsome heads
and grin, light flashing
across their teeth in starbursts.
The trees begin to quake,
and water rages against the rocks.
I open my arms,
and the leopards roar.

I will dance and you will dance and everyone
will dance with the trees
as the rain scours the troubles
from our skin
as well as any baby’s bubble-bath.
It is acceptable, no,
expected, to scream and roar the chorus
to our song
while any inhibitions
are drowning in the valley.
There will be no
don’t get mud on your dress
or put your shoes back on, no mothers
calling you indoors or fathers
glaring at the puddles you track in.

Someday, when the wind
blows and whispers in my ear,
I am going to listen.
I will take off my shoes,
pull off my tights,
and race the thunderclouds
to where they go,
the lush green place they call home.
I will have found a land where children
play tag in the rain
and lovers kiss
under the broadleaf trees, soaked.
Where no one tells you to head inside
saying, girl, you’ll catch your death!
Where you’re allowed to stop
and sniff the roses,
more pungent than ever after a downpour.

When I locate the thunderstorms,
if you so desire,
I’ll send a message with the wind
so you can find me
and we can play tag in the rain.