A gentle drizzle sets the scene;
The last of the season’s persimmons hang-on,
Half-concealed behind leaves shimmering under
A quiet concert of pitter-patter percussion.
In quick succession a jack-hammer jacks,
A jet’s engine whines,
And wheels whirl along the moist road beyond the wall
Adding their own interpretation to the unwritten music.
This must be the chorus as there they go again
The jack, the whine, and the whirl
Until a tightly cadenced thwack-thwack-thwack
Interrupts as a train speeds by.
A tiny red spider crawls across my keyboard.
My fingers dance around it as I tap-tap-tap
My own contribution to the score,
Until again the jack, whine, and whirl take over.
Pitter-patter jack whine and whirl, tap-tap-tap.
Pitter-patter jack whine and whirl, tappity-tap-tap.
An unexpectedly perfect lullaby as I settle down to nap.
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A lovely description of your garden and the ambiance therein, I love a ripe persimmon – to have them growing in the garden sounds like heaven!
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