The soft June rain quiets the warble of the robin.
Pit-pat, pit-pat, through my screen.
Birds unseen, but heard, continue their chirps in the early evening forest, oblivious to the pit-pat, pit-pat, of the rain on my ledge.
My mind has longed for this ordinary noise, pit-pat, to grace my ears through the window.
Instead I’ve heard the yell of those in turmoil, crying out for help, and those screaming louder to silence them.
The rain is soft, steady, timeless, I haven’t heard it this way for ages, pit-pat, pit-pat.
A quiet way to give a little nudge, urging me to rest but continue on.