Surely the rain I thought to be eternal has quit.
A sky clear of clouds to block the sun's radiant beams.
On a small quilt I lay in the damp grass to examine
the left over yard puddles evaporating into invisible particles.

Raw leaves dance in circles around their Mother Trees, closely
kissing the growing moss.

Beyond the bark of woods wild birds taintly make noise
as they return home; to the interior of branches,
the sprouting gardens in your yard,
and every now and then building nests hidden in the blend
of your untidy shed.