When the cars and motorbikes start receding,
when in between I can actually hear neighbors laughing in their yard,
as I lift my eyes I notice the sun is hidden,
and a strange, greyish yellow light announcing a storm
The Calla lilies are craning their graceful necks up,
glowing sentinels, like Art Deco lamps,
The roses I put eralier on in a vase on the graden table are opening up,
finally releasing their delicate, ephemereal aroma,
The clouds above, dark teal sponges that an invisible hand is about to press,
are holding their breath,
Everything is getting still with that almost palpable expectation,
Every now and then, a very slight breeze tries to agitate a branch or two,
but Hush! says the tree, something's coming up!
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