Spring Showers

Music heralds the arrival of the first drops—the honoured guests—while the storm takes shape.

The off white clouds, devoid of malevolence for they have no lash of thunder.

I take my place among the flow and tend to an intimate garden.

My dreams must be planted; They continue to inspire—

My ideas must be nourished; They continue to grow—

My worries must be weeded; They are washed away—

As my storm persists, it’s warmth embraces me.

I am content—set adrift—guided by the lure of gentle songbirds.

What mysteries might I find with suspended droplets who have lost their way?

Beyond the garden within and the sea of droplet stars that surrounds me, my journey ends where it began.

As the storm circles the drain, I am left with absent petrichor.

“How long was I in the shower for?”