Jane Palash
1 min readAug 19, 2019


The earth submerged in summer rain

My feet collecting grass and treading lightly

On air, or almost, if it matters.

Splashing the sand in puddles,

Warm and rushing down the street

I have no headphones, music ringing

Born in my head, loud, perfectly composed

To fit the storm, to feed the sense.


The rolling hills, the roaring winds, the pines upon the tops

I see a tree, snapped by the force of former summer storms

The broken tombstones, dusty angels, digging their halos into ground

A flowerbed with dirt on flowers, abandoned, vandalized, and browned.


A pair of candles, light and fire, against all odds under the flood

Survives in glass, and raindrops pouring over the tin roof with a thud.

But that’s enough, I too, I promise, will hold the fire safe and sound.

And warmth, and light, and every thank you

For every breath above the ground.