Summer Afternoon

Sunlight beaming through the clouds
The scent of rain is on the breeze.
My back yard has become a garden
Of wildflowers others would call weeds.

Everywhere the sound of traffic
Swooshing and bumping, north and south.
Overhead the angry drone of an airplane,
A buzzing bee hovering behind me.

The clouds drift heavy now,
Cotton batting of grey heaven.
Even the birds don’t sing their songs
As the crickets drone in the bushes.

A breeze tousles my hair,
The neighbor slams his back door.
I am walled in with green leaves
And a verdant carpet of grass.

It’s not so bad to be alone
Listening to the thoughts which play
Upon my troubled mind
Like raindrops on a pond.

And what of the ice and snow,
Or the back field bamboo grove?
The long dark night does not conceal
The mortal wound upon my soul.

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