The big rain came.
The big, blessed, rain came,
just last weekend.
It was glorious:
big fat splotchy drops,
making splashable puddles
All, bringing down the temperature.

That wonderful smell of
petrichor..so deep, rich and musty

The look of a world made clean

The joy on people's faces,
such a delight to weary souls

Firefighters danced and whooped
with relief.. Farmers wept and
children gambolled about in the mud.

It has not broken the drought.
Nor put all the fires out.
But is a start...
It is: many a prayer answered.

Today the world looks
brighter, better
And the forecast is
for more rain...
                          ...Amen to that

lips pursed
tip of tongue
out, testing
air quality

head cocked
eye beaded
swivels
and back

legs windmall
forward motion
and stop with slight
over reach, stillness
achieved, basking now
under sun lamp

body glistens,
muscles settle
into contours
of tree branch

little gecko
eyes unblinking
in your cage
of glass

The little blue teapot lies
broken upon the slate floor,
Shards and tea leaves spreading on the small king tide
I watch saddened  by the loss  of a gift from an old friend taken from me by
death ...
and think on the impermanent  nature of being.

Little words,
little thoughts
Nothing
of great import.
Not
life changing
or even life, rearranging.
Just a
whisper
in my ear.
Makes the
moment
far les drear
Gives me
comfort
Clears
the mind.
Lets me know  
we are one,
standing together,
creating life,
a forever
Just begun.
All the
little words
will run together, become a hum,
like bees in
a hive
we have a goal
making
sweet honey,
staying
alive.
Little words
Will let us thrive

This one thing
I know
When I shuffle off this mortal coil.
Bury me not
in a six foot hole
in s park of six foot holes
Headstones
set in rows of rows.
Marked with year, start and end.
Do not do this to me my friends
I ask you
to bury me
among the roots
of a large tree
with branches spread wide
that embrace
the sky.
A tree that  
children
can clamber and climb
and see forever away,
one that is
a castle in their imaginary play.
Find a tree
with space below
so that friends
can cone  
sit, stare into those branches so leafy and green and find solace  
in what
might have been.
Or simply
read a good book
in the
tree's shade.
Let there be picnic and lovers trysts
and in years ppl
to come
let there be  
benches
for those that come to sit in peace
for short moments in time.
Let my death
have  more purpose,
than mere
memory
of my time
alive on earth  

let it be
a place with
no marker
of how long
I was  me,
but be  more
my soul's  transference
into eternity.
Let me
nourish
the world
in ways anew.
Under a tree
with an
amazing view.