The smell of dirt is driven into the air
Disturbed by engorged droplets that land and spread like giant gelatine moulds
A greenish tinge colours the sky and the trees glow yellow
Calls to children fill the air
Urgent and slightly afraid
The birds sit eagerly on the powerlines (The Compares for the coming event)
They call everyone to their places and the audience to their seats
Lightening strikes and thunder warns
It is the last call
Lastly the birds take their positions, ready.
I to seek refuge and wait quietly for the event
All peer out, keen to see the production
Quiet descends as the firmament awaits the heavenly performance.
Little Wren 