The whisking of a chilled breeze,
brushing the delicate glass
While heaps of water
rain down from the sky
in an effect as dazzling as the fourth of July.

Smells as if untouched by man,
This waft of fresh water,
And wet grass,
Sweeps through the air like a hawk to its prey.

The incandescent lights are
Left to hang.
The glass itself,
Transcendent and clean,
As if the rain has been cleansing it for years.
The intimacy of nature to creation,
Bestowed by gentle  raindrop
To the crisp glass of the bulb.

Slides down to the edge,
And falls off what seems like the end of the earth.

The water stained oak,
Risen to the stature of a king,
Swaying to the blowing kiss of the heavy air.
Revels in replenishment,
That courses through the splinters of wood,
And down the green fingered veins
Everything in total harmony,
Left behind by man,
Left to be free,
Left to live in its own reality.