What a thrashing, tree-limb crashing,
cleansing, deep watering, road-obscuring downpour that was. Lucky we get this gift of water.
It swept in with its dark purple skies and
roiling clouds, and passed through, leaving us with residual small rivers
racing down every path now, as Dante and I walk along the farm fields.
Somehow all the small tufts of baby Killdeer,
each bundle with their parents, are toddling about, and not blown away.
No comments:
Post a Comment