went out mid shower
in the almost dark
to shape the flow of water
harvested road-side along channels
to fill a series of ponds.
it had been raining solidly all day.

i had not intended to be out long,
just enough to check water levels
and hear the sounds of night, full
with running water and the
splat drumming of rain –

but oh the joy
of water rushing from the hill road –
flooding our banks
spilling and refilling
the garden sluice
running pond to pond
in small rapids and falls.

i stayed a while –
clearing leaves where
the water foamed under
stepping stone bridges,
and along low channels
long empty of flood.
scratching lines in heavy clay
to lead precious water
to the swale path,
hearing the bliss song
of full summer tomato vines,
rosemary and thyme.

full dark now
and soaked beyond bones
i return inside
crackling ecstatic and
deliciously cold
while the rain continues
hammering on the roof.

when sleep comes
i dream of that water rising,
of the deep pond overflowing
sparkling with mica and silver fish
spilling light among the night shadows
and quiet roots of trees.

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