Quietude was born again
when the soft rain fell.
Her fineness misted the air.
Her soul invaded the senses.
Penetrated every blade of grass.
Every leaf and stone.
No rain falls so softly.
Nor soaks the pores of leaf and bark.
As the rain that asks a day to be called soft.
A Soft Day
2006 ©
The west coast of Ireland often sees days of harsh wet weather.
A day when the rain is light or misty is called a soft day.