in which rain startled a plover

from repose. High above

 

I saw the plover like a dot hovering

 

and then settling quietly on the willow

outside my window. I was somewhere else

dreaming in front of a screen of workday

nothings, brooding on lingo from management graduates

we’ve all become a project plan in excel spreadsheets

practitioners of process,  grumbling thoughts

disturbed by rumbling outside and then the rain

poured down, the sky simply wept, opening up the world

to a natural deluge, a pure torrent of freshness that drew me

to the weeping branches, drew me to the gaiety of umbrella-less workers

draw breath and run, and the plover, disturbed,

shakes its neatness like a business suited bureaucrat,

toffs its head and flies off leaving the grass trodden and damp

the tree rocking and shaking, the ground greening and fertile

my single thought to wing it too before we all turn to stone

 

Copyrighted by the author

 

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