iam

(Relatively)Sept. 3. -- Cloudy and wet, and wind due east; air without palpable fog, but very heavy with moisture -- welcome for a change. Forenoon, crossing the Delaware, I noticed unusual numbers of swallows in flight, circling, darting, graceful beyond description, close to the water. Thick, around the bows of the ferry-boat as she lay tied in her slip, they flew; and as we went out I watch'd beyond the pier-heads, and across the broad stream, their swift-winding loop-ribands of motion, down close to it, cutting and intersecting. Though I had seen swallows all my life, seem'd as though I never before realized their peculiar beauty and character in the landscape. (Some time ago, for an hour, in a huge old country barn, watching these birds flying, recall'd the 22d book of the Odyssey, where Ulysses slays the suitors, bringing things to eclaircissement, and Minerva, swallow-bodied, darts up through the spaces of the hall, sits high on a beam, looks complacently on the show of slaughter, and feels in her element, exulting, joyous.)

Gazing from picturesque frames of elongated double-panes through lenses with tear drops from showers where clouds joyously release droplets of spherical perfection, I search. Inquiring, Droplets, after years of personified roses becoming roses then love then roses then love twisting and blooming, Who, must I thank for the droplets?
"I thank rain for rain," Wind says.

Thus rain
tones change
rain pauses
clouds hover
as if waiting...


Who and No One thankfully thanking
rain, tones change, rain, tones change