The rain had dried up –
every drip, every puddle –
but Hillie couldn't go out
while her room was a muddle.
Mom had been clear, and
her dad had agreed,
"First, clean up
... [+]
Wind chimes ring behind our house
in random harmony,
riffing with each passing bird
and thrumming bumblebee.
A glass dragon also sways there,
seeming mute while wind chimes sing,
but sunshine sparks cantos of light
from each iridescent wing.