Clouds withhold rain
and swell blue-black, as thunder moans deep.
We thirst, but quenching does not come.
Then morning's light reveals the rain soaked petals
of grape anemones. Their leaves resemble those of grape's vine,
but soft flowers bloom in place of wine bearing fruit.
They are a sign
of summer's heat slowly cooling.
Morning's misty fog enshrouds my view,
so I point my camera to look deep within garden's other world.
Tiny Creature clings to the flower that holds his sustenance
and I am transfixed, looking into micro eyes, upside down.
Water's droplets hang as draped diamonds,
suspended against a blued background.
Above, Indigo Bunting's flight marks his last visit of the season,
his first always in the early spring,
and I wonder where he nests in the interim.
This last sighting of blurred blue is a mark in time,
as are the young hummers diving, practicing, preparing
for flight to come.
Fall colors will grace this garden in days soon to come
and I wait
with heart bittersweet,
already missing the refreshing of this season,
yet expectant for the one to come.
The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your soul in drought, and strengthen your bones; You shall be like a watered garden, and like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.