Shadow, the slant of summer’s bright white
toned down, dawn and dusk bathed in yellows
glowing with promise and new beginning.
How I yearn for days dripping from bare limbs
beneath gray overcast within the woodlands—
the sound of it, each drop fat and collected
before falling—yes, how I yearn for that
assurance of change and a chance of rain.
Here she is, beautiful, dancing on the edge of it.
drycrikjournal 