blessed is the rain

Blessed are the urban who leave fallen leaves on the ground for they allow narrow tunnels of red and yellow, piles of color in which to shuffle my feet, decaying masses that remind us that everything dies.

Blessed are the squirrels and crows for their chatter reminds us that not only humans walk these city streets.

Blessed is the old gnarled maple for it provides a home for moss and a small fern that presents its green like a gift.

Blessed is the rain for it allows even an hour of sun to feel like a miracle.