IN BETWEEN THE RAINDROPS

Buckets of water sit beside an old iron pitcher pump.

They are emptied into a reservoir until

a gush of cold, ground water flows

with each downward push on a rusted pump handle.

Water splashes across the sun-struck, concrete, well cover;

basins, buckets, and animal troughs are refilled;

bird calls spread throughout the air,

as if sugar-pop nectars bloomed in swarms,

But sun-drenched afternoons give way to dark clouds

that move quickly and stream their own water falls

along the edge of a roof’s overhang.

Out there, in between the rain drops,

there is dry air, cooled and set in motion

as heat rises above the tree canopies,

as water drips onto grass blades, leaves, and petals,
as some burrow in tree hollows
and others crouch under wooden eaves, 
there is a deep breath.

Heavy winds clamor in the fields and woods,

carry undisguised truths hidden in their pockets--
until the chilling water's flow
bursts through the air, floods the earth, and

spills into underground streams that fill the well

and quench a day’s thirst for knowledge.

© cmheuer, 2/2018