Like clockwork the rains come late
in the Summer day.
Yogurt clouds deepen to
Whirling dervishes spin
up and out on whipping winds
that spin through tops of trees
where birds weave like wicker
shiny beads dripping from
waxy feathers onto sagging leaves.
High up in the blowing crown
squirrels escape to dreys of rattan
and knitted twigs to await the
signal of inky shadows that venture
into mottled rays on glistening blades
of grass that spring erect
from the wet potpourri of earth.
“summer garden” from startribune