Backyard Ballet

A full-bellied slate sky is thrumming with rain

Peppering the soil with small, dancing holes.

The tired sky takes a long, steadying breath.

Fine beads of silver drops spin on a web

Spiralling down its silken shafts

Carrying the weight of air.

Trampolining and tip-toeing

Along leaves with the patina of an old urn.

Leaves with veins like spokes of an umbrella

Hold splatters of oaky sunshine aloft.

A spider has folded a leaf around itself

Crouching within its brittle shroud.

Silence shimmers as the earth draws its breath.

There is a perfect moment of stillness.

The pulpy womb of the damp, woody earth

Is seething with the promise of life.

The creek writhes with water the colour of tea

Clawing at the careless branches which taunt its bruised surface.

It is a languid creek no longer.