Baptism by Soft Rain
by Michael Escoubas

In his house and in his room,
when dew was on the meadow
and the rising sun shaped the day,
the miracle of earth cut his heart.

For the first time he witnessed,
with clear eyes, the meadow’s
flowers: pinks, greens, and yellows,
the blue hues on the ridges,

wheat swaying in distant fields.
Suddenly, his world grew silent.
Immersed by gentle rain,
his self-reliant heart bled out,

as the door to inner bliss flew open.
He left his room, spirit-filled,
in a moment made sacred
when dew was on the meadow.



 

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