Seasonal Poems by Ron Pickett

CALIFORNIA RAIN

I stand in the covered patio.
I listen to the rain – the sound of the rain.
I force myself to dismiss everything else.
I focus on the sound of the rain.
It falls more heavily, I remember that sound.
Water gushes from the downspouts.
The rain slackens but it is still raining,
I can hear the sounds of the raindrops in the puddles.
I hear distant thunder muffled by the rain.
I must remember the sounds.
I let my perception widen.
I see the raindrops falling leaving streaks.
I smell the fresh smell of the rain.
I know the world is being washed and replenished.
I sun comes out. I’m saddened.

I know when it is the first rain of the wet season – but I never know when it is the last.

 
A POND IN THE SUMMER

The quiet following my intrusion slowly ends.
I sit, very quietly on a tree stump.
Birds begin slowly returning to their songs.
The tiny, flighty birds first.
Then the larger, louder birds.
A dove flutters to the ground raising a small dust cloud.
A heron breaks the surface catching a fish. 
Droplets from the struggling, wriggling fish leave ripples.
The water is tea-stained by the dead limbs and leaves,
And dust and pollen lightly cover the still surface.
A bullfrog croaks, and leaps into the pond.
A fish jumps, catching an insect.
The warm, languid water is the home of many creatures.
A squirrel lets an acorn fall into the pond.
A slight breeze disturbs the placid pond.
I stand up. Silence returns as I leave.
The intruder retreats.