The jungle outside my window,
(three trees and a blackberry bush
with berries much smaller than my thumbs)
has quenched its thirst with a long drink
on a day of insistent rain, and now
it basks under the glow of a clear sky.
That vision of emerald gowns
and ruby gems moves in unison
as the trees nod and sway
and the berries plump contentedly.
When they think no one is looking
they dare to brush a branch-tip touch.
And I, in pretense of not noticing,
avert my eyes and tip my head
to catch the playful breeze,
to feel it flirting with my hair
as we — the trees, the berries and me —
celebrate the delights of this ordinary day.