It’s not quite raining, but it wants to
open up.
The garden fears drowning if it
gets anymore.
The birds just want to fly and sing
the songs taught to them by their parents when the
world was much simpler and less esoteric.
The snails are in waiting - ready to be thrown onto the
sidewalk - making their peace with God for the inevitable
crush
under foot of a rainy day, or the child’s salting
upon finding one intact.
A dog with its nose at the window has a spring in its step at
the thought of a walk in
the rain
or five minutes to dig in
the mud.
A cat takes shelter on the porch
swing or under the bird bath - wherever a dry spot can be
found where one’s fur won’t get so wet.
The grass stands tall. Resilient, as grass is, and proud to
endure any storm that may come.
For now, though, it is quiet and not
quite raining
and the garden has not flooded
and the birds can still fly.
The snails are still alive
and the dog can chase the cat
on the apathetic lawn.
