At This Hour

Written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt – March 5th- “intransitive”

At this hour the shadows are manicured as the lawns; even the leaves hang in brushed stillness
like choir robes before the song begins. Gangs of cockatoos, chromium glinting, roar in unison
down the ripped,   sycamore,    sky. 

At this hour thunder is a footnote to the kettle-hum rain. He rolls dough; lines of cookies strut 
across papered pans and I sit by the window smelling the earth cooling.  And I wonder:   when 
did dripping get so intransitive; flinging down songlines under a walnut,   disco,   sky

8 thoughts on “At This Hour

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