The Babbit Runs Away

So much thought to choose from, the garden grows well in the rain and sun. Through the window I can see the dance of leaves upon the tree but in the overcast of cloudy gray there is a haze upon the day. All is suddenly too quiet and too still and nothing teases or tempts my will. For the moment I am unafraid watching the day slip by in parade. No pomp, no circumstance no band to play or steal my glance. Here comes the rain, at first a drop or two then a downpour like Noah's deluge I run to escape weather's threatening storm and the babbit runs away in free form forlorn.