Come hail or high water . . .

In the mailbox this new-moon day with rain chances here in TulseyTown . . .

Every day is a poem

I’ve been a performer most of my life and worked hard at it and now I find out that chaos works better. Just keep changing the subject and never betray panic. – Garrison Keillor

After three horrific years, in which Covid has killed more than one million Americans and transformed parts of daily life, the virus has turned into an ordinary illness. The story is similar in many other countries, if not quite so positive. – David Leonhardt in the NYTimes.

When it rains, it should be raining

There are at least ten-thousand things

and most all have a voice of some kind.

Most of them, tho

can't be specified or enumerated with

by or on a spread-sheet. That said,

it was you I heard

this morning just at sunrise.

There were 17 of you

but you flew as one overhead

all of us headed for the Heron pond,

talking, it seemed, about the day ahead:

Wonderments about your cousins

– the frogs – barking like

the neighborhood dogs

at your graceful, noisy, arrival.

Sometimes you whisper

in the leaves and grasses, and

once, all at the same time,

your thunder

announced that rain

was about to speak.

jb – shared on Prolific Press' Poets' virtual.