Trees shed evening’s rain–silver beads in morning light.
Who expected jewels from the sky?
Not I.
If I stood beneath, I could reach out my hand, unfurl my fingers, and wait to catch a drop or two.
But from the window I’ll watch and view Nature’s work revealed in its canvas of green.
How smart the branches, the darkened earth; to receive so simply and give back so splendidly.
Not According to Plan 