The thick smell of rain;
Robin flies to the bush top;
Everything's muted.

Yellow newspaper,
Crumpled soggy in the grass;
A bird's wings flutter.

Baseball on the lawn
Abandoned by its owners
Awaits with patience.

Small sprinkle of blue
Lights up a patch in the woods;
Counter to the green.

Thick gray sky holds promise;
The woods are muted and still;
Small van moves slowly.

Clusters of white buds
Hang their heads at the road's edge;
Soon they will burst forth.

Lavender clusters
Waft off whispered memories:
Voice of the lilacs.

The shiny green vine
Twists gently up the phone pole;
Whoops! It's poison ivy.

Road sign says "Our Road";
On it some gleaming water.
Is it "Our Puddle"?