The old priest considered the cast-iron oil pot sitting in the corner of the immaculate kitchen. It was heavy, and his back hurt.
The trees growing on the canyon walls whispered to him. "Prepare
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Crack goes the skies in a glorious blaze –
And so does my heart warm.
The thunder which promised downpour
Made home feel more like home.
The sun has returned to its quarters
Up in the sky
And the hazy air invites me
To bask in the torrent again.
It calls me in my youth,
The flashing sky
And with the rain I reclaim
The joy that slipped away.
How can I worry
When the rain keeps falling
And the thunder cracks again?
I’m helpless in this life.
I’m small in this world.
The thunder that revives
Will come again in boisterous sky
Reaping the storm inside.
I’ll be waiting.