It trickles down the glass of the window panes
Of a small white cottage.
The air is cool.
Clouds are crying; their tears are not saline.
Their “little tear drops” are not little to the countryside.
Rather they are heavy showers.
Peonies soak up the rain like a sponge.
Their fluffy pink heads droop
From the weight.
A swallowtail butterfly takes cover
Under the thick brush of an arborvitae.
Earthworms emerge from the loamy soil
To escape the flooding of their underground tunnels.
Water spills over the brim of the birdbath.
Its wide stone basin floods above the maximum capacity.
A breeze there is none,
Thunder absent also.
This time the rain falls
All on its own.