birds in pools, well to them perhaps, backtrack, why do I find midnight rain so soothing, just the sheer sound shrouded by the darkness, better than no sound and just the dark I suppose, the intermittent rumble of distant thunder, how distant, I could count the seconds and do the calculation but I would rather drift off into autopilot, and so the night goes, window open, the constant humming of rain, ebbing and flowing in volume and strength, the occasional flash, and so I am carried off by sleep arriving @ the sunrise, to my morning eyes, this has the blueprint guise of spring, the stolen spring, the spring that seemingly never was, maybe just a late arrival, fashionably late, nature does not take to my time table even though she is old reliable, for at least this little slice of time, my life that occupies the now, and having been groomed to know the expectations of four seasons in episodes, this morning, birds in pools, or puddles really, frolicking with the release of abundant energy not seen for awhile, what seemed abandoned is bloomed, or maybe I am projecting on them, or trying to capture what they have and transfer same to me, that first burst, the first trip to the shore, the burning hot sand on soles, that first burst into the surf, the enveloping rush of cold early summer ocean waters, head first, a semi cannon ball of sorts, the rest of the reality world just slides away, a momentary lapse of all concern as flesh is baptized by the simplest of actions, splashing, soaking up the sun without burning, dancing, spinning, splashing, maybe that is why I adore the midnight rain, the sensation, the shower, that moment of washed over sensation, so many memories…