The rain has stopped and between the clouds
The sun sends out a feeble tendril of warmth.
I stand beneath the drip drip drip of the broad-leaved mulberries
My feet in the damp grass among the snails.
You walk away down the shiny wet path
Your feet the first to tread it’s sleekness after the rain.
Grey clouds scud above your head
Shooting inland from the tossing sea
Throwing the last cold drops against your back.
I hold out my hands to catch something
Perhaps just the memories shooting away
Faster than the wind driving the clouds.
But all I catch are handfuls of raindrops
Or are they tears?
©Brocken Inaglory
Viv Drewa - The Owl Lady 