March rain

It’s raining. Downspouts gargle furiously around frogs of ice. The barn cat listens & licks her pregnant belly.

It’s raining, the first warm rain of spring. Sap rises, & the green nibs where bulbs will write their deathless names in the air.

It’s raining, it’s pouring. Worms poke through the muddy ruins of once-grand palaces of frost.

It’s raining. Under the bark of a log, the ant queen resumes her slow march.