Glory be to mowing right before the rains come–
For black clouds as dark as coal just so far away;
For the vacuum cleaner purr of my electric mower;
Not a scent of gasoline in the air as I race against time;
The lawn patchy and poofed in spots where grass grows uneven;
Now smoothed by my efforts to even out the tufts and scrub.
All things green and bright and grey come together now;
Whatever is blooming, blossoms (even after last week’s snow?)
With blues, purples, yellows, whites; ablaze and darken;
Clouds gather girth as I finish my meditative labor. Rain:
Let it come!
michael jarmer 
Let it come. Beautiful.