by Padmini Krishnan
tiny drizzles, like electricity, breathe life into wrinkled leaves, which
quiver in their decaying veins. The Wood Pigeon sucks a drop from the darkening
clouds to squeal out a primal tune, intense and longing. Late Willow leaves,
buried on top of each other rise in unison as the drizzles turn stronger. The
scent of the baby Robin in the rain mixes with the flavor of a misty rosebud to
create a unique fragrance that permeates the breeze and the cotton clouds far
beyond, inviting a fierce rush of water from the skies. As water surges down,
hidden Crickets roll further inside and ivy leaves glisten while the cracked
ground gulps huge drops. Summer has ended.
* * * * *
Padmini Krishnan was raised in India and now resides in Singapore. She writes free verse poetry, haiku, and short stories. Her recent works have appeared in the Ariel Chart, Mad Swirl, Page&Spine, The Literary Yard, Spillwords, and World of Myth.