After the Rain

The next day, after the rain –

a soft hush against my windows

while I lay sleeping, the comforter

pulled tight against the chill of night –

the moisture continues, a thin fog clouding

the tree tops, obscuring the sky’s blue

and the other shore; the leaves and flowers

glisten, fresh in their cleaning, scrubbed,

and green, though tinged now, these late summer days,

with orange and brown and red, the season’s changing early;

a single drop of water gathers at each pointed end,

suspended there, held, a tiny rainbow contained, ready,

and letting go, the air clatters with their syncopated dripping,

droplets jumping from leaf to leaf, falling,

free flight, a botanical song after the rain,

in the thin fog of morning,

tinged now, these late summer days.