The Trees Say 'Rain'

I've had so much coffee today...
I'll never sleep tonight.

I watch the wind play over the leaves
like swimmers in the surf.
It's cool again,
like it's been,
unusual for August

I drain the last,
sweeter than the rest for the
sugar which has piled there.
I always use too much.
But then it's there for me when I need it.

I vibrate with chemical frequency,
caffeinated, caffeine-aided,
while the stillness builds, ominous around me,
and shadows lengthen with coming night.

But the sun hits the treetops,
setting them afire,
and illuminates the white woodwork
of the gazebo and the fence at the edge of the garden,
making it seem less dark than it feels in here.

Somewhere, a door swings in the breeze again.
I've looked for it a few times, to fasten it before the storm.
I don't listen to the meteorologists,
but the trees say 'rain,' and I believe them.

They've said a lot, this summer, those trees,
and I've listened, watched as leaves flip and furl,
celebrating the coming droplet
which will ride them like a million teens on the playground,
after dark, when no one can see them
forgetting to pretend they're too old
slide and swing.

Rain... maybe I'll sleep after all. JAM 08/25/2K8