The Water Cycle

Black puffy clouds, release their anger, disintegrating onto waiting, wanting palm trees.

The tiny beads slither down their barks, which once grated my hands, then on to toads’ backs, where they roll off to the welcoming top soil, “Penetrate me”. The fertility that is mud is born. New life and petrichor.

And eons down under, Bedrock, the ultimate woman scorned, wails for attention too.

“Pick me, pick me!” she cries

But eager beans sprout into action and suck up the left-over drops with their tentacular straws, sending the water-blood to their chloroplastic factories,  where it ruminates and percolates until it’s time to leave. 

For the Sun beckons a return to the Sky God. Dihydrogen Oxide kisses her watercolor flowers goodbye, and disappears into a breath of invisible mist.

“I’ll be back again.”