It rained overnight or earlier this morning. Not a hard rain, as the path has dry shadows under overhanging branches. The tree are a fresh green, washed. Leaves hold reflective water droplets, jeweled prisms that remind me of the
cabochons of my moonstone bracelets. Roadside dandelion seed heads have the
indignant look of a wet cat. The dandelions are waiting for the sun to dry their whiskers so they can float on a spring breeze.
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