The Nextdoor Chickens quit their dirt pecking and look up. They make a noise that echoes quiver.
Swallows take to wing. Damp air brings dinner even if the sky shakes. What is thunder to them? A gutful of gnats, a dinner bell?
All day drama has built in the clouds: such scenery!
Kiss curls cast in solid iced white. Puckered anthracite. Contortionist flecks. Charcoal smeared with candy-floss.
All of it, only water!
Rain shakes down, rich quenching drops of it.
After this is a flattening off, a sky pasted uniform grey.
Early for work I sit in the driver's seat and inspect: the layers are there, subtle, idiosyncratic still. I mark the light and shade of each droplet on the windscreen slope, the crescent curves of reflection.


Popular posts from this blog

Eulogy For Dog

Ghost Dog And The Wobbles Of Progress