Rain at Nana's [Original Poetry]

Finches at the feeder

flash dandelion-gold.

Seeds spill to the brown, baked grass below,

the relic of a scorching June.

But open windows welcome winds to cool the dining room.

They flutter curtains, carrying

the scent of rain to come.

And rain it does. The backyard pines are silver with the mist

for weeks withheld.

The sky, gray since sunrise, now drops the sweetest showers,

rain enough

to soothe the swelter of these sweaty summer days.

The gauzy mountains gaze upon the garden in the yard.

Here is life emerging.

The green tomatoes swell, beginning to blush red,

and long cucumbers fatten on the vine.

At the edge of the trees hums

a white box of bees:

honey-heavy,

a hidden sweetness.