Rains are never unexpected, 

During summers in my parts of hills.   

Behind the hills dark clouds rumble,

The meaning of it eludes me completely.  

A mist then hovers to welcome, 

The little feet of raindrops, 

Which fall on the crevices of earth,  

To salvage her wounds of heat. 

The chestnut and walnut flowers, 

Fall from the drizzle, 

Appearing more austere and ethereal, 

Then what they are in their bloom.  

Turning into a steady shower, 

The drizzle then drenches entire, 

Mountain vegetation and whining insects. 

Which creature is dying!  

In the kingdom of understories? 

As tears trickle down from the tips, 

Of weeping willow and pines.  

Spruce, a careful student of cedar, 

Watch all this objectively. 

Do I call these deep shadowy affinities!

Love or merely interdependence. 

All this I wonder during, 

My aimless gazing of summer rain.