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Sparrows

Three days of steady rain has worn down the sky,

First ironing it a smooth even gray,

Then bulldozing the mist into skyscraper clouds

That are finally elbowed aside by beams of sunlight

That steam clean the air a bright blue.

Wide swathes of grass, thick and lush,

Toe roots tingling with wetness,

Sun-besotted blades pushing upward,

Skyward, seeking to return the wet kisses

So recently planted on the earth.

Birds tentatively step onto dark branches,

Peek out from low-hanging leaves,

Shoulder their way through close clipped hedges,

Line up on high strung wires, perch on tipped rooftops

And examine with interest the arrival of the afternoon sun.

In desultory conversation they discuss the weather.

“We needed the rain,” says one.

“The ducks are happy,” adds another.

“It’s global warming,” interjects a third,

To which a crow adds, “The snails were easy pickin’s.”

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