You can hear the rain,
Pitter pattering
on the brick path and terra cotta roof.
The trees are swaying,Slowly and silently,
The sky an almost white-grey fortress of light,
Not dismal,
Not totally dark,
Casting a brilliant shadow
On everything beneath it,
And making the world look like a color palette.
The darkness is lifted
Like a heavy curtain
But the light sky chooses when to drop
Tiny gleaming rain drops which cling to everything.
The tree's bark is a dark relaxing black
And compelements the leaves
In a most magical way--
Dropping, falling
And here I sit on an old blue cooler,
Just sitting
And watching the rain
Writer Geek
