Under the overcast sky hauling in
its rain from the west, the colors
were subtle, as if this stretch of wetlands
was a pastel dream into which, by magic,
I had suddenly arrived. Riding
on the warm, moist air that brushed my face
was the sound of a distant train playing
bass to a chorus of hundreds of frogs.
Then raindrops woke me and I ran
for shelter through waves of grass
and dandelions, frog song in my wake
all the way home.