Dry

Today brought only sprinkles, but the sky has been freighted with splendid clouds. Looking skyward I can imagine the storm that didn't happen, water sheeting the street, pine boughs bent under the running weight of it, he sound of thousands of tiny drums drumming. Returning my gaze to the ground I see the gray pavement, the still trees, and hear the evening chatter of dry woodpeckers. Soon the frogs will begin to croak. They at least still have water.

( Sunday Verse )