"My Favourite slippers
are wet and muddy,"
grumbles a voice.

"Shh! Never mind.
Look down carefully.
Your tiny seed has finally woken up,"
soothes another.
A tale unfolds...

The canvas above
has a finished look.
Darkness has filled in the gaps.

The house turns silent.

My eyes gaze outside,
though the window mesh,
trying to make sense of the
blackened mosaic overhead,
silent, except for
occasional sounds from
an almost 'pet-like' frog.

Outside, the hot sand,
cries, silently, for a
long withheld lifeline.

My eyes close and
images - those bottles of hope -
float, gently past, in my dream.

Hours slip past...

Sudden drum beats
of thunder, humming the tune,
'gonna love taking
the centre stage...'
make tired eyebrows move.

My eyes open.

Softly descending raindrops,
call out to darkness...

'am here to give you company.'

Thunder agrees.
Lightning follows suit.

As dawn enters,
the aroma of wet sand
mingles with the flavour of
steaming cups of coffee.

The sight of wet n' soggy sand,
ups the gaiety in
those 'good morning' voices.

Seems like the sand feels it too.

Boom! Thunder interrupts...
'I am readying another show.'

The engrossed audience
cover their ears and wait.

The morning visitors -
the butterflies arrive.
Their favourite red seats
are wet but with a
contagious sparkle.

Overnight rain
does have a 'mystery' element.