A soft rain,
On a warm morning,
During a walk,
Is an invitation
To refine those
Memories
That have faded since
Childhood.
Is it the falling of the
Drops through the leaves
That we hear? or
Is that the movement of
Peals of water rolling over the
Once dry creek bed?
I have thrown aside
My umbrella…
A quiet that is only
Broken by the swish
Of car tires as they
Breathlessly swirl by,
Rain flattens my
Hair, running rivulets
Of nature’s tears over
My unshaven face.
My dogs prance the
Prance with what we foolishly
Call a smile on their faces.
That is obviously just
Contentment!
The rain is irrelevant
To them.
Poet
