The slow rain trickles, making a sound I’d almost forgotten amid a drought.
Slight touches of cool air touch my skin like a girl who is flirting but too shy to commit.
The front welcome me in and offers a chair and a drink and a chance to get the pen movin’
I’m always reminded that miracles still take place when I sit and watch the flowers go from death to life. Water from the sky falls and instantly it’s all revitalized.
Only opened eyes will see the health return to the plants, grass, and seed.
If seeing is believing, then count me as one who sees.
Nate Melugin 