A rainbow requires a rain that stings
against the broken beams of sunlight,
then slowly lifts its colour from the sky
or shatters into mist on the earth.
I watched each shimmering light
from across the valley,
and the highest peaks where
scraggly goats adjust their footing.
Meltwater races down
to the river rushing by,
where some fish brace the current's weight
and others choose to carelessly let go.
As another crossroads comes into view,
I hear the gravel crunching the tune
of both right and wrong.
I join them—flat-footed,
unsure, waiting.
Written for Poets and Storytellers United #241 – change
Today’s Daily Stoic poem:
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