My Type of Day

Pale golden leaves scattered the ground
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