It is indeed the end of September when moisture hovers in the air,

And after a dry, dry summer

Where everything just hung on,

Rooted DOWN

Stood strong

Sometimes bowed their heads in the hot sun

As the towering Doug Firs looked on,

Finally, the rain returned.

But those OTHER days

When no rain actually falls,

When mist and drizzle float around,

Suddenly, if you slow WAY down,

There’s A Window Through.

 

Suddenly you can SEE

The jeweled trails

Of tiny beings

Who have been there all along,

Busy every day

Whispering so very faintly

Watching us go by.

 

Suddenly the whole garden goes magic

Only to vanish again

The moment the sun waves the fog away.

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