The clouds have rolled in. Warning drops in the air.
I’m miles from home, on a hilltop somewhere.
But I’m not heading in. No: it’s time to prepare
For a new task. I’ll go hunting rainbows.
Seems the weather divinities aren’t going to let
This chance to half-drown me escape them. They’ve set
Their rain-dog pack on me. Don’t mind getting wet:
It’s a small price to pay, hunting rainbows.
Though it may only last for a scant quarter-hour
There’s a magical side to this sharp April shower –
Over sunlight it has a miraculous power.
Now’s my moment to start hunting rainbows.
The clouds crack. The sun splits a curtain of rain.
I look to the eastern sky. There, once again,
Old Richard of York’s giving battle in vain:
But I’ve carried the day, hunting rainbows.
And forget the tall tales our grandmothers told
About finding the end and that big crock of gold:
There’s a treasure right here we can have and behold
Any time we go out hunting rainbows.
Got caught in the rain on the bike yesterday. This happens a lot, but under the right conditions it’s not without its upside. You just have to know where to look for it.
My phone camera wasn’t man enough to get a decent picture, so the image is an arc-en-ciel that appeared over the sea in Brittany a couple of summers back. N.