The quiet earth on a Friday morning 

Is one second, quiet  

and the next – filled with chirps and wallows 

one moment bitter – 

And the next, sweet and robust coffee on my tongue 

Sprinkle of cinnamon in my cup 

As well as in the chestnut trees 

Where the birds are making homes for the summer. 

 

Earthly quiet, it is

interrupted by the occasional caw caw, cacophony, or rodent tending from branch

to branch.

The whirr of motors in the distance 

And the pattering of oncoming rain – 

I hear it before I feel it before see it, before I can even taste it 

But it’s there, and it’s coming 

One moment its pitter-patter adds to the ambient noise 

And the next, it’s gone. 

replaced by a soft curtain of cloudy dismal fuzz.

 

My rain cup, 

it’s coffee collecting tear drops of the sky 

may think it a melancholy day 

to sit and watch and hear the rain.

 

But I am the day from which it came 

When I wake up to watch the clouds rise. 

Earth? Is that you? Of course, it is silly me. 

 

No more pattering 

The separate entities we called drops are now one 

one sound, one spirit, one movement, one being, 

one Curtain of electrostatic buzz, 

not white noise projected from an old television set, out of tune 

but the drone 

of destruction – 

or construction – 

or revolution 

as he once said “you say you want to change the world?”

 

How can you think for the chestnut trees, 

when you cannot feel for the chestnut trees- 

Their branches 

scampered by squirrels and birds, 

their leaves 

Rustled by the breeze and the rain song 

And their roots 

Withering not in the coldest of frosts 

And their heights, lying lonely in the sky?