Dense fog overnight, changing into a mist, a drizzle, then a steady, light rain.
Rain, sitting in the screen porch thinking, writing
through a soft, rhythmless percussion, drumming
like fingers on skin
on tired leaves
on wet mulch
which pops up to meet each drop
then from leaf to leaf, even softer.
We’re saturated now, sated with water.
Tomatoes have burst their skins, exposing flesh and seeds inside
birdsong burbles in waves from deep in the leaves
punctuated by an occasional frog commentary, clearing his throat
As the rain dissipates, the drops slow and the crickets rise
in a shimmering tapestry of sound, sometimes closer, sometimes farther away
but always there, almost tangible
something to lean into, to wrap around yourself
at the end of the day
thankful for the rain, thankful for the end of the rain;
thankful for the day, thankful for the end of the day.