In the first few moments after the rain stops falling
Surreal quiet descends after the rain
then listening deeply:
a faint plop as leaf sheds a drop
to fall silently into the moistened grass,
a mourning dove ruffles its feathers--
they love rainy weather
then opts for a nap, head beneath wing.
Wet footprints in the grass-
a faint trail. It needs mowing
but the blades caress my ankles
with cool wetness. Under
the silvered maple , it rains still:
drops plop on my face as the tree
shakes off the weather, each leaf
reaching towards the sun
yet it is twilight beneath the canopy.
I sit damp on the rope swing,
movement scattering random sprinkles
sifting down from green life above
finally wetting the dust at my feet.