Pitch Perfect Day

Hello dear readership, I am a wee mosquito,
living among the grass or weeds, wherever moisture can be found.
I like it when it rains--I love it when it’s humid.
Down in the grassy thick, amid the sycamore and pine.
Fruitful my species is, I ravage in the evening;
in my environment, I thrive when climate goes awry.

But lately there has not been a raindrop;
they sky remains clear, blue as can be.
With temperature in the comfort zone,
I do not feel much like leaving home.
With heat and rain I get a fever;
I seek out napes as fast as I can.
But I’m overtaken with ennui,
my motivation is no more--
this is not how I am!
Come what may,
pitch perfect day.

There is a breath of breeze, it wafts among the treetops;
happy the bluebells are, a million faces full of joy.
Dappled the sunlight is within this verdant forest;
chipmunks and ladybugs abound and lounge without a care.
The scene so picturesque, as far as I can see it;
I buzz the fallen trunks, yet there is nowhere I can breed.

I am amazed at nature’s abundance;
the green as far as my eye can see.
But I truly long for rain to appear;
a stagnant pool is what I am looking for.
Because days blemish-free are not too becoming;
they grate my wings and leave me to sulk.
So I hover over skunk cabbage leaves
or light upon a thistle or a thorn,
to bide my time as I grieve.
Rain I say!
Pitch perfect day.

34 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
August 5, 2014