and the sun bathes the wet world

restoring everything to its color

chasing the night back into mere shadows

and the bugs dance again in the June air

and a squirrel, timid, scurries across the high wire

and the once furious trees are calm again

calming

a bird begins

to sing

released

like raindrops

easing from the eaves

like tears in sunlight

at my window

I write until the pages are wet

and, emptied, find my rest

in the shadow of the One

who shows me my shadows

yet, rising, still sings over me