When I got here the iris was still in her bud and now she darkens and falls each day into nothing

It’s as if this neighborhood peers back at me as I study the nooks and crannies just after rainfall while walking slowly down its streets. I feel this somberness drip from me in the same way the water drops off the wild flowers and trees lining the roads. 

What is it about a post rain world that washes silence and stillness over me?

I think about the different hues my hair takes on before, during, and after getting wet. I wonder if that is what I’m noticing on the leaves after it rains? 

Silver green and gray in Claire’s voice hums in my head as a turn the corner