Afterpour

Afterpour

The mud is underfoot again,
The garden paths awash with grime –
But now the sky has stopped the rain,
It must be snail time.

The birds are nowhere to be seen,
The leaves are dripping from the lime –
And yet, the air is fresh and clean –
It must be snail time.

They come out of their hiding,
Sliding over puddles millimetres deep,
While wearing their umbrellas –
Soggy dwellers on their slow and silent sweep.
Where do they shade when the Sun is out ?
Where do they hunker in the drought ?,
While waiting for the showers
That empowers them to wake up from their sleep.

The worms are up upon the lawn,
The garden ants are on the climb,
The clouds are brightening, like dawn –
It must be snail time.