As the rooster crows
the hidden sun shines behind murky grey clouds
But the air is not murky
as tepid drops of rain fall and gather like pools of light on pink pedals and green leaves of oak
soaked right in an early summer festival of storms
I watched as they rolled in quietly then came bursting in loud and quick as foxes
Then leaving in a rumble rumble want of repetition
The morning does crave the rooster’s crow
as pale silence beyond rainfall waits for its decision to bring about inference of breath
A gentle stirring of the day
Some work, some play
And a space to curl up and ponder
Set forth creative endeavors
Basking walking smiling dreaming
As the rooster crows.
Busted Flip Flops 