August Morning Rain

The rain draws circles on the lane

And mirrors in each dip

And on the south-faced window-pane

A hundred rivers slip

The rain pools in each petal-cup

It cools the limpid leaf

And kisses every face turned up

To savor its relief

Its runnels snake through sun-baked clay

And sings with splashing mirth

A precious heaven-rendered lay

To quench the thirst of earth

The rain threads beads of liquid glass

Like a rare string of pearls

And all along the garden path

Flowers giggle like girls

© Janet Martin

Thunder mumbles in the distance, the cracking apart of elements we had earlier has passed, the driving sheets of rain easing to a comforting song that says s-h-h-h-h beneath traffic and kisses thirsty gardens.

We’ve been elbow-deep into beans among other things but they will have to wait until the rain tapers off to be picked.