Rain in the afternoon

Out behind the shutters
the hayfields have been glimmering,
Byzantine mosaic
set carefully among forested hills.

After the siesta, some rain falls–
the parched and prickly grass,
the olive groves
flash silver in gratitude.

Sawbuzz screech of the cicada–
shouting, “Summer!” stops, and
a long and liquid breath of birdsong
fills that stillness.

Happiness,
like this hush,
is a stolen moment.
For, when the trill and rasp
of the chorus in the cypress
becomes a song of yearning,
the cold nights foretell.