#Scurf111: This Isn't a Poem

raising the profile on an otherwise mundane rainy summer noon

The moss, a little less pronounced
The leaves a little less monsoon green
The sky a lot more cloudless
The roads a little less shiny
The rugs a little more clean
and the tea a little less strong

They had been conspiring for a fortnight now
They came out one noon
with the bright sun for company
"The monsoons will soon be gone," they all announced
The tree trunks were happy
The barks weren't

The birds chirped around, flew for a bit
They saddled down to the nearest power line
Sat quietly, looking at them all
Seeing in no direction in particular
It's going to get arid soon again
And no sloppy twigs to collect to make their nests

The sparrows seemed saddened too
No wet seeds picking from
Where will they drink water now?

The tea-leaves were happy
The bitter ginger would be away till December
Roads smiled to themselves - "No more potholes,
None of those kids playing on me," it thought
The moss would soon dissipate to nowhere,
The leaves would happily crinkle atop twigs and branches

It had been a good monsoon,
they were content to their hearts' fullness
But now was the time to go
So say it with a smile on your face,
Heavy-hearts make for a soggy good-bye
"See you next year around," they waved
and the downpour changed direction.

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Pierre Bonnard, ‘Dining Room in the Country’, 1913. Public domain.