It Would Be Dramatic

It would be dramatic to say that I couldn’t remember the sun,
but with so many days of cold gray skies and finally a full day and a half
of solid non-stop soaking rain making puddles where there had never
been puddles before and puddles where there are always puddles
but overflowing this time, the ground completely saturated.
All the brooks and creeks have swollen and turned white with water
rushing and falling. Everything wet, winter leaves sticking to shoes
and being tracked indoors on clean floors with muddy footprints.
Then finally sun, glorious sun that dried up all the rain and made
the puddles disappear and the trees drip dry.
People came outside to enjoy sixty-eight degrees,
to sit of porches and listen to birds sing in the woods
and distant dogs bark upon occasion at who knows what,
to soak in the rays that warm the skin and induce a sleepy feeling.
Sun that moistens with sweat and makes the world fade in and
out dozing as the sound of a wasp buzzes by and children play
basketball across the way with muffled sounds, one barking out
orders and the rest in open rebellion until they decide to call it quits
and wander inside. Now only more bird sounds as strands of spider web
glisten in the sun like silver Christmas tinsel. Green leaves on the gardenia
bushes sway choosing life out of season In late December. They refuse to die
having chosen to worship the sun, but secretly they dream of seeing their first snow.