Waiting for the Rain 

 

This is the first time

we’ve had a rain

in many weeks.

 

It’s been a long dusty
dryness and the earth
was begining to crack.

 

The green things

about my dooryard

had slowed their growing

and now lean into their thirst.

 

There’s an easy breeze

that carries this rain,

and it takes the small white

blossoms from the rose bush.

 

The fallen petals

look a bit like

spilled sugar-coconut;

and it seems the chipmunks

favor them as they

fully fill their cheeks.

 

Have you ever

seen a chipmunk

dance in a puddle?

How about two of them?

 

There’s always two

of them, tagging about;

good friends I suppose.

Or passionate little lovers?

Do they know the difference?

 

The rain continues,

and the old grey cat

has taken refuge with me

under my porch.

 

We wait together,

waiting for the same thing,

waiting for the rain,

waiting for the dancing.