Rainy Night

I think it was in a biography of Winston Churchill that I read he liked to have his speeches written in the format of a Psalm. I haven’t seen exactly what that meant for him, but there are times where I like to write in the format of a Psalm. I do it when I write down prayers I am going to say at the church service, or a presentation I’m going to give, and sometimes in my journal when I am writing a description or list or something. I try to break lines at the end of sentences or phrases and indent the beginnings of each line in a way that seems right to me for what I’m writing. The way it looks pleases me. And I think it makes it easier to read. Kind of slows you down and pause at each line break to take it in.

It feels presumptuous for me to call it poetry. Once I heard an author ask, “Is it poetry or just prose arranged on the page?” I like “arranged prose.” Call it what you will, last night I wrote this when the rain and wind woke me from sleep.

Rainy Night in My Bedroom

It sounds like a river.

No, it sounds like a loud refrigerator whir.

No, it sounds like a waterfall.

How can hundreds of raindrops sound like one?

One thing.

One noise.

I unlock and open the door.

I see dark,

Trees.

Grass.

A windchime.

I notice my breath,

White smoke.

HA!

Cold on my legs.

I close the door, go back to bed, sleep.

Tree, in the morning, through my bedroom window.