Green April Rain Again

Her first words this morning were, I can’t hear the birds. It’s raining. The sparrow commune in the eaves is waiting it out. Their day ahead is just sex in the wisteria, anyway – what’s to crow about?
At the back, a dense intent, a proposal, ascends to the hedge; the end of our world. Branches make vapour trails against their own green sky. And small pools gather where every thing meets every thing. There’s no temperature standing out here in the rain. I can hear the coffeepot, the cat that just came in.
Her mother’s rose is reaching for the handrail made of the twisted pole we stole.
Myself, I feel at peace: slightly public, but private enough for optimism; and nostalgic for the memory, I know, rather than the real rains on Lantau Island – which always get me, quite like this.

IMG_1525 IMG_1536 (1)


About Stevie Mitchell

I come from a long line of cartoons and beer. I was once peed on by a tiger. Hoping the resultant super-powers are yet to come, cos if these are they, then, grrrr....
This entry was posted in Creative Writing, Photography and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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