I Have Little to Say

I have little to say as an avalanche of maple spills over the back fence and water weighted branches, heavy with the perfume of rain, bow and bend in a slight breeze and the dry throats of hollyhocks are quenched and dribble an excess down stems that yesterday stooped and wilted under a hot sun. And what can I say as a profusion of green glistens in the early morning light and leaves wear a fresh glaze in the cool air. How everything has changed, gorged now on an infusion of wet as I walk under the trees, daubed and dabbed with rainwater, feeling the sweet damp of a joy left here as it was passing through late last night and now whatever I could say would not be enough.