The shimmer of light rain glimmers

on an early yellow litter of leaves,

the grey skies making green things glow. 

Sitting in a patch of moss, worms playing

at my feet, hearing the creatures of mud

stir around me. Beautiful things, kind things, murky 

things, left to the sweet rotting creek beds.

Join the frogs, croaking ragtime

and precious slime. 

Goofballs of the cat-tails. 

An opossum, curled in a fallen log of mushrooms

and lichen, is snacking on crunchy beetles.

A long silly grin peaks from her scruffy

coat and she giggles courage. 

Pigeon, with tickle-gray sweater of feathers,

shelters in the leaves above, bragging

its resourcefulness, cooing patience.

Crisp lace moths dance

to welcome the fall of night,

tiny ballerina antennas kiss my cheek.

Soft night welcomes her children

again. I slide along next to the racoons

as bats skim the treetops.

I cuddle a coyote and smell the sweet scent of rot.

I and my dear kin trust the rain,

our mother, and each other.