Mist and Drizzle

Grey skies glower at me,

nothin’ but grey skies, do I see…

I do not listen to the growing grass;

using my time-lapse attention,

I watch it grow

between coffees

on this spoonfilled afternoon.

The magpies zig-zag through the undergrowth,

like special forces in training

for the next deniable engagement.

Two cats look down from their balcony,

as housebound as someone’s unvisited granny,

but less likely to jump one day.

And it rains,

the rain it raineth every day

in dribs, drabs, droplets and drizzle,

oh, for a deluge, a diluvial, drain-filling storm!

The daffs droop

sad and sorry in the light breeze,

just days left to lend colour

to the greyed green of the grass.

A squirrel winks at me

through the rain-flecked window,

as though we’re long acquainted,

where did it get that nut?

Who’ll stop the rain?

I will, I’ll imagine this

and it will happen,

perhaps tomorrow.