It’s raining redwood seeds
and flocks of geese
dance noisily over my head.
Cool night air, alive with life,
comes through my window;
it smells so fertile.
No snow as yet,
and better yet,
the rain may come.
The promise of rain
is teasing us.
If rain will come,
the earth will bloom again —
and so my heart.
clarakatalin 
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