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
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