By Niki Radman
pitter patter
gentle drops twinkle
in the misty cold
flirting with
a leaf
descends
feather-like
into shades
of muddy-brown, dirty yellow
and specks of aurora red
blushing
aging
dying
a minute of silence
this is not a time for words
a moment to
inhale
the scent of nature
wet earth and somewhere
a campfire
conjured up between the
tightly wound branches
in the forest of the mind
like autumn dreaming of winter
a blushing leaf longing for crisp snowflakes
and the melody of
drops
unrivalled
unchallenged
in their silent, soothing
pitter patter
listen
the world stands still
