It's rare and pleasant this
misting, this spitting of rain
on a day when there's nothing
to do, at all
except drink in
the warming simmer of
a summer's afternoon with
lowering, hazy, darkening
clouds covering the morning's
light; it's calling and calming,
unhurried at all
with a trace of breeze
carrying along that perfume,
that musk of rain in the air
bidding the thirsty
to inhale, to breath
the water
like a fish gasping for
life long in the net
of a fisherman who is too
long deciding whether
to release or eat
the catch; and I respond with
a stroll that refuses to end
as my clothes cling to me,
shoes heavy with deposits and
drops hesitating on my brow
gathering themselves to continue
their descent with the company
of fellows in a tune so
warming, so sweet.
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