An Evening Walk

by George Freek

After a warm rain the grass
stretches to the horizon
and meets the infinite sky.
The gardens are as brilliant
as a Persian rug.
I enjoy it while I can.
Storm clouds loom ahead.
Clouds are suddenly boulders,
as the sky turns blood red.
I can’t ignore it.
Turning away, with eyes
locked firmly on my feet,
I avoid a black weed bed,
But the leaves which hang
from the branches like lanterns
fall on my hatless head.