Ode to summer

Showers of summer, harsh with thunder rumblings,

The mushrooms pop up with the morning sun.

Seasons getting wild — it's blitz and blessing,

With it long gone, the worry of dried-up wells.

To bow to the rain gods, happy to see the moss,

And filled in the green, once again, trees bear fruit.

To sow the chili and tomatoes in the wet soil,

Budding cosmos everywhere, the scene is painted yellow.

With the flowers, the garden is filled with visitors,

Warm the sight — buzz with bees and flying colors.

For the summer, I am out, being my natural self.

Clouds with droplets painted the sky grey.

Sometimes we long for the showers to find the chill,

With hot tea-sipping, while it still falls as drops.

Leaves bow to drain, the drops dripping round.

The termites catch the flight as rain fairies,

Falling into the runoff, gushing to the drains.

All the trumpet tubes watch as they've been spared,

And it's the next to fall, as it won't last long.

The maid with the broom sweeps the fallen debris,

The heap she makes every day grows in height.

The new ones sprout as tinges of green again.

Spring follows to brighten up the scenes.

See all this, and a bit to ourselves deep.

The music of the rains stopped — a long pause.

What will be the hues of pain if I have to paint,

Leaving the canvas blank at times to fill in later?

Among the mourners, the rumble heard from far,

Misting with water, sinking roads and aisles.

Cars came furiously, splashing in the muddy waters.

Katydids stretch their legs and tentacles long.

Once again, I woke up from the scenes painted.

Are there any gutters or shallows in the skies?