crossroads

the rain breaks briefly
and birds return to feed--
"good sign" I tell myself,
still disbelieving
but suited for adventure,
zipped within my cheery aqua slicker,
I marvel at the regularity
of intervals between the tiny droplets,
how with precision they adorn
a sapling's slender branches
like shining lights in darkness on a holiday.

I step along the darkened roadway,
eyes cast down so not to miss
the twinkle from a single teardrop
in pools on tiny flecks of green,
this early, verdant leafing
(on what I'm told are weeds).

almost lost in contemplation--
rent with hope and sadness,
intersections past and future
composing unexpected crossroads,
almost lost,
but there she lies before me,
and bears her private invitation,
"pick me", so I do--
then smiling at this special moment,
I turn (literally) to march
into the ever greying darkness.

robins shudder as they stream
before my coming presence,
and overhead a startled hawk flies,
draws my eye...
then as I hasten homeward
a passing freight train rumbles
(really? let this only be is a train);
I pull my hood up
for what good it does me,
as my face absorbs the spray--
the downpour strikes just as I enter,
and once within,
I examine, dry and press
a weathered but still sturdy clover:
four ways unite in intersection,
past yields without regret her right of way.