The wind dances with the rain, tracing murmurs in shallow undulations across the pool.
Blue oscillations move to the percussion of random roadside splashes, washboard slides on roof tiles, and swoosh of twisting leaves.
The murmur swoops and dives, turns and folds then scatters, changing speed and direction in a light and dark, pebbled, fluid motion on the edge of a thin waterfall…
From a lifetime or two ago, starlings fly and waltz across a field.
On the trail of those forgotten images, in a long retreat to the roost from sunset to nightfall, swarms of blackbirds, in waves and dashes, mostly silent, fly to safer destinations, their numbers unending.
Unbidden, the rain dream opens a window onto a dirty pink sky scored with power lines, the whistle of a commuter train and screeching metallic brakes… Is he on it? Or did he stay for one more drink in Grand Central Station?
Black shadows, dark thoughts, echoes of a time out of mind, creep in and encroach on the tap dance of happy drops plopping in crazy staccato moves…
Magic water needles sew buttons on clear blue water.
Bubbles bounce and hold their breath.
Dots and blue stars fall and wake up other dreams:
Thousands of “Look mommy! Look!” jump in splashes and ripples colliding madly.
Laughter and giggles escape in a love song.
From the other bank, the steadfast Pelican watches the antics unperturbed.
This is paradise he says. Rain or shine, behind the clouds, the sky is always blue!
He grins at me from the edge. Should I try to glue your broken beak one more time, I ask.
Nah, he answers. I like this wizened look. It says I lived and put myself in harm’s way. I had adventures… I have more to say and do with a broken beak. What’s missing is not as important or beautiful as what is left.
The mimosa chortles but the peppertree shakes and rolls with unrestrained laughter…
It is raining today. The wind plays, paints pictures, sings and dances a soft shoe number on ripples, between dreams and raindrops.