The Quiet Days

The rain sings down the green trees and leaves
dripping fresh scent to the thirsty ground.
The sky above muffles its light to a muted grey
intensifying bird songs to sharply fluted notes.

I breathe, relaxed, the perfumed air
my eyes puddles reflecting space and time.
Slowly I move, wrapped in the days' warm wet tale
raindrops shining beads on the flowers of my windowsills.

The quiet days lifting slowly their sleepy heads
hypnotized by the absence of shadows and their stars.
They conjure dreams like glitter, without paper or glue
and run on empty tiles, silent like wise 
ghosts and giddy butterflies.

 Trudi Ralston.
July 7th, 2016.
Thank God for quiet, rainy summer days.
They are the seeds of stubborn dreams.