These are the Days of Alone

This place is mine today. People keep sensibly away on these unseasonable days. The garden has reserved them only for me. Dirty wet pantlegs kneel on acorn mulch, rich moist dirt full of earthworms alongside dripping bracken, jack-in-the-pulpit, trilliums, and a carpet of white blossoms to welcome little things out of the rain. Jumping, my feet land planted on stone cold rock, chilly toes wiggle and at once I am home. Tadpoles dart under lilypads. These are the days of alone.

I give you tumultuous days
powerful dark skys
roaming sheaths of rain
soaking bones
wild bursts of sunlight
to stop your thought,
a bird's simple song
your companion