Rain drops
patter against the skylight,
tap dancing their way across the surface in buzzing tremble:
high to low, soft and loud,
fading to silence
down the eaves of the canyon
made of brick and mortar
just outside my window.
Thick flicker of light preambles
clap of thunder,
rumbles front to back,
then sideways
and yet, Again!
Muted roar follows jittery flash,
illuminating that empty space
between curtains and glass,
where my eyes slide to bright beads
stuck on the pane,
within the sliver of transparency I can actually see
that has trapped the brightest light
within tiny pearls reflecting the universe.
Another crescendo!
and the world turns quiet
in twilight's unmoving breath.
While the orb in the distance,
large and round and flaming orange,
slides beyond the crowns of the trees
and slips just past where I can see.
And I sense its grand disappearance
within the glow of the fading light.
(c) 2017 Iris B. Struller