Last evening there was a soft summer rain with a little bump and flash. From the porch rolling clouds were reflected in shimmering streets that seemed to sigh and steam mists that swirled on the ridge through the trees, into the woods and for a bit refresh brown lawns, sad gardens, poets, painters and roses.
Today the rains left sauna damp memory and warm winds perhaps preceding cool breeze and signs of life. The sunflower bowed her head as I walked by, there was no other on the dry parched streets walking in the damp of day drawn to be out and about. As ever be well. Stephen Craig Rowe