Any second now it will rain; clouds hang like full udders. Mist obscures the buildings downtown and now it reaches here, a wall of tiny drops. Home is only 4 houses away. Getting wet is no worry.
The clouds lose focus; the sky brightens a notch, the mist disappears. A mockingbird in a mis-pruned deodar cedar 2 gardens over rehearses some tunes. I can’t spot it, but don’t try hard. I keep weeding, raking, gathering, gathering, stuffing damp leaves into bags. It sings without my attention.
The mist reassembles; this time it will get serious, surely.
Again, not. Wattage rises. The mockingbird samples a few more phrases. Thoughts wriggle toward the light like worms escaping a bog; the usual diversions, laced with images of the catastrophe in Japan, everywhere on the news.
Grateful is a stratum of what I’m feeling, for a peaceful morning,
In this garden are several tablets of inscribed funerary marble, presumably for decoration. Beneath the lemon tree one reads:
NO FAREWELL WORDS
WERE SPOKEN NO TIME
TO SAY GOODBYE
YOU WERE GONE BEFORE
WE KNEW IT AND
ONLY GOD KNOWS WHY