The rains returned steadily, gently
Coaxing the ground to life. In the break
Of sun, I feel the soil pulsate with warmth
The underneath so parched the water runs
Dry. I work until my eyes adjust to darkness
Turning and raking the garden’s growing matter.
It’s dense, softening, malleable, but
Not soggy, not damp, not even very wet.
The forecast is for a week of rain.
In the dark there is a hint of fresh colour
From lavender and narcissus washed
Into flower. I contemplate galoshes,
A rainjacket, a river god named Cephissus
And the old world before the flood.
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