Rain

I step onto the crumbly black tar,
parting the secretive fog

Leaves and other green, growing things
whisper their welcome against my lips
Coolness slips in through holes in my heels
by capillary action
they tickle my feet 

Sapling arms wind around fingers of sunshine
Feathery elms bow with apologetic weight
of a dozen hundred drops aching
for the mulchy bed of petals
prematurely dead below

Grass bend their bodies too willingly;
I sink deeper into the muscle and sinew of the hill
There is everything and nothing to smile about:

it rained this morning