At least the owls in their holes

Are dry.

But I

Am soaked,

pushing up the hill

With a south wind behind me,

In good company

Frothy Goldenrod

Glowing

The purple heather

Spangled with raindrops

Swallows

High

Hawk in the drizzle

Mist in my eyes

And the sound of the wind

Soft in my ears.

#poetry