The winter rain falls on Boars Hill.
With a lucid symphony full of beat
the sky had opened its vast theatre
to act the heavens out.
A full house - the earth glistens in diamante
fulfils the sky's wet destiny
with a thousand lips eagerly
sipping the heavenly moisture.
Patio doors open wide
after the dying finale, no more
applause from the window panes.
A call in the air. It weaves in and out
of time, whispers, sings, grows
in all the roots that are bursting .
