Rain on a Cedar Roof
by Kenneth Chafin
The Street Preacher
Letting the Silence Say It All In memory of Ernie White
A Rhythm for My Life
Rain on a Cedar Roof
An unfinished attic was my first place apart.
At bedtime, I`d climb a ladder to where
rough boards formed a platform
for an iron bed stead,
a can bottomed chair,
a small table, and
a coal oil lamp.
The ceiling was so low
I could touch the nails
that held the cedar shingles.
I loved rainy nights, which
meant pots and pans
under the leaks.
I`d blow out the lamp,
slip between the sheets, beneath a
quilt my grandmother made.
The sound of the rain on the roof
and the tunes the raindrops played
in the pans, spun me into
a cocoon of dreams.
When I awoke,
I had the feeling that I could fly.
