before the rain

the darkened sky broods overhead and the wind powers through the tall oaks in my backyward. . . woosh. . the pliant branches sway and bend. The windchimes clang lightly in the twilight. The wind blows then recedes, shifting and ruffling the glossy, thick-leaved vines that drape over the deck trellis. Crickets are squeaking, motorcycle engines whine in the distance. The air feels saturated and the breeze is brisk and cool. A siren pierces the soundscape, then fades in the direction of someone's trouble. A faraway train whistle joins the cacophony . . .these are the sounds of living.

I see bird silhouettes just above my neighbour's roofline. . .strips of deeper blue slice through the cloud cover in the distance. The moon is full but hiding. Acorns pelt the wooden deck. Geese do a flyby. . their distinctive cry is all Canadian.

The rain seems imminent, but hesitant. Night has fallen fully and calms where it touches. My heart rate slows slightly and my breathing deepens. Every wind swell stirs the thousands of darkly green leaves that tremble above me . . . . waiting