Magic Garden

I love the sense of wonder right after a rainstorm.  That fish bowl feel of a world baptized anew.    The sun selects individual leaves on which to shine.  The air is fresh as laundry on a line.  Plump red robins scurry nun like over the lawn Resigned to the role of hunter and being hunted  Sparrows impatient as over ripe fruit on the vine Jackhammer chatter from branches densely entwined.   Rain drops form then slide from blocked up gutters A jack knife dive onto rain pocked soggy ground Departing clouds leave a hint of a slate grey trail As the garden unburdened relaxes and exhales