A wet hammock

Simple twine

reshapes the dense spring air

into diamonds

around and under us

Held

by this cradle

of rope

of tall trees

of a heavy, misting day

We unfurl

Swaying through

the swallow’s warble

the rustle of bent and bending branches

dancing for leaden clouds

Droplets

begin to join

and together they drop

through the treetops to the undergrowth

blanketing the forest

in a soft pitter-patter gloss

Dressed right, layered for rain

allow the splashes to trickle along

outstretched fingers

to open palms

Drink in the dank air, knowing

above all

the sky

is still

blue

Some days feel so heavy. A hammock soothes the soul.