posted Apr 29, 2020, 10:21 AM by Bruce Rowe

The spring rain dapples the surface of the pond


The ducks are loving it—mallards, wigeons and some kind of diving duck


The soggy world outside is a river in the driveway and a flood in my garden


I shelter here in quarantine, watching ducks and writing


She is warm and dry, but does she know it’s raining?


Her birthday is next week, but we can’t celebrate together this year


I could stand outside her window in the rain and sing to her


But she would not understand why I am outside and not beside her


She gets a pill to help her eat and another to help her sleep


She converses continually with no one in particular


In the language of her youth


We are in the autumn of our years


But the spring rain will fall again