The rain fell through the early evening sun,
beading on the grass in spherical prisms.
The trees, silhouetted against the dusk,
sky hazy pink and gold, swayed in the song,
the xylophonic downpour, the warm wind.
At my ease under eaves and a blanket,
something hot in a mug warming my hands,
where i can take in the transformation
of the past day, and its mundane worries,
into something extraordinary.
These times between extremes seem plain and spare –
the slow swelling of bread in an oven;
the outwardly unmoving chrysalis –
but sit within that stillness; bear witness.
Revelation hides in interregnums.
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