3 a.m.

The rain has stopped

but the quiet drip drip

tells me all I need to know of how

the new plants–the strawberries, cabbages and flowers

have been gently soaked into new-turned earth

safe beneath surrounding rotting hay mulch.

No birds sing at this hour, no coyote moans, only the moon

waning from its fullness of two nights past

sheds a pale gray light not even strong enough to reflect

on diamonds dripping

leaf to earth, leaf to earth.

My slippered and nightgowned self

stands in the shadow of the porch, is grateful

for this gift of wakefulness

at 3 a.m.




About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in Garden, home, NaPoWriMo, nature. Bookmark the permalink.

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