Sunday Rain
A thousand
upon thousand
droplets of sky,
dancing,
falling,
dripping,
in single
silences,
echoing
from leaves
that tremble
and shake,
filling the air
with their floods
and voices,
overhead,
a hurry
of birds
flicker
and tumble,
dipping
and turning
against
the blustery call
the invisible wind,
and higher
still higher,
the grey flotillas
of clouds
deepen,
and drift
across
the silver
mists,
hanging
in veils
across,
the woodlands,
the folds
and valleys
of earth
and landscape
ploughed,
since September
harvested,
their farms
and outhouses
huddled
in shelters,
dips,
and meanders
of rivers
and towns,
glistening,
with rooftops
and blinking
windows,
as the sun,
at last,
glimpses
in sunlight
and morning
a sail arising
between islands
of blue
behind
the dissipating
wreaths
of clouds.
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p1964km@googlemail.com
