Waiting for days
everything is waiting
farmers, gardeners, workers
crops, lawns, gardens,
First, I shiver, just a bit —
it is just a bit cooler.
The sun has nodded off,
the clouds no longer white puff balls.
Something is different.
On the edge of something.
Walking from the garden to the house
there had been nothing to harvest
even weeds are wilting.
hot afternoons, — how many in a row?
The first drops are too strange to recognize.
My mind is on a pasta salad,
without peppers. tomatoes, green onions.
I finally feel the distinct wet spot
on my bare arm.
I have to double check
Is that brown ground truly speckled?
YES! Thank you, Lord!
by Nancy Ann Smith, Poetry Marathon, June 25, 2022