The rain is falling outside
and I am in simpatico with the rain:
not sad, not filled with joy, just
still and listening to my thoughts as
drops of rain fall and splash
on my roof in constant stream.
I look out my window into the garden
at the wet grass that now radiates
its full green and the birds pick at the
soil between looking for a meal;
and I am here with the rain and playing
in the Garden of my own thoughts.
The rain stops but the greyness remains
and I move into the day and to the new
stream of life that unfolds, and I put
my thoughts away for now as the birds
twitter in display and I attend to life,
but return to this Garden of thought I will.