by Judy Safford

The rain dancers drumming reaches a tipping point;
the clouds squeezes out misty moisture
covering the topsoil
with kisses and a promise.
This morning the fragrance of earthy green
calls me out
from behind my curtain.
We walk the property,
move the solar panels upward
toward the summer sun and
check my little garden.
Each small growing promise
springs up straight,
reaching tall like young soldiers in full uniform
saluting the sky in hopes of more recognition.
I forget to recognize myself.
I forget what I am wearing or
what my hair looks like.
I no longer hear my foot steps
on the earth and
leave no footprints there.
The mountain fires smolder
quieting the town’s fear.
The lavender is happy with it first bath
rinsed from the dirt-road dust;
oregano pops up everywhere smiling.
The dry-toast grass softens with
blades of green wiggling through.
We kiss in the front yard on Father’s day,
on his way to hike,
on my way to write
with my Sunday tribe.
Keep rain dancing;
keep drumming
Keep the moisture coming.
Keep calling me out to play
It’s dark behind this curtain.

by Judy Safford...

Philip Brautigam
No Comments

Post A Comment