Rainy Morning

Jessica Nelson North

The wet leaves fall in a pattern of rusty yellows.
The first rains of autumn seethe in a turbulent brew.
The women patter to work in a sea of umbrellas,
Crimson and green and blue.

The women are strangely glorified by these
Gay moons of silk that blossom under the rain,
As if impossible flowers should fall from trees
Never to bloom again.

As if in autumn hearts the folded passions
Should wake in calyx and be wide unfurled,
Crimson and green and blue, after their fashions,
To flame in a wet world.

The clouds break, a wavering sunlight shines,
A few leaves spatter the rainbow throng,
The brave convolvulus folds on its whispering vines,
And the women patter along.