Whisper

A little bit of rain has fallen— enough to make the dry grass fragrant, and to trickle through the downspouts with an agreeable noise. The feral cats have taken refuge on the porch, and seem content for now to merely watch the damp evening grow dim. A crow flies above, cawing, but the other birds have fallen silent. The cicadas, too, are subdued, though perhaps they are only waiting for full darkness to begin their buzzing. With the window open, I can hear the occasional showers that beat on the mulberry leaves. It is a restful whisper that might lull me to sleep, but the sun is just setting and turning the overcast sky gold. I must remain awake. There are things to be done, and I do not wish to nap now and wake at midnight. So tempting, though, to just close my eyes and listen to that whisper.


( Sunday Verse )