Listen in

From my desk under the trees

I stand still and listen to the soft ticking of cicadas slowly recovering from the storm.
I can hear the rain seeping and leaking through the sand and stones at my feet.

We went from heavy grey skies
To blue, while I drank my coffee
And then the black tarmac road becomes a blur
In an Amen to the rain,
The steam curdling up from the ground.

It's the first time in hours the birds can be heard above the luxurious drumming of rain.
Undeterred they sing to their mates across the canopy,
Taking turns. One, then the other. No butting in. 
Each able to sing to the last note before the other replies in similar tones, quieter and further away. 
It must be love; this respectful turn-taking. 
Is this how they choose a partner, choosing the one who lets them speak their turn? 
How beautiful is that?

At seven in the evening a whole chorus echoes.
My ears are filled with song as I sit perched on a rock above the town.
The wind in the trees hints of the storm they promise for tomorrow,
Storm number two, in as many days. Reservoirs are filling to half full at last.
I sit despite a darkening sky, 
No need for my sunglasses anymore,
Watching the grass sway in the breeze
My heart comes home.

daisy dream by Pipp

When I walk and sit and write, it all comes back together. It. Life. Thought.

Love of life.

Sitting quietly in the countryside or the park a while, the puzzle of pieces that we are, gets ever nearer to being whole.

~~

Happy Thursday lovelies.