Thunder growls faintly, far away. Only memories of water remain where the rushing creek used to be, the silty bottom now cracked and dull. And yet, right there, something stirs. A snake is sloughing its skin in the creekbed. The new skin gleams as the reptile slowly emerges from the one it has outgrown.
Thunder rumbles again, possibly closer now.
This time the rains may come, filling brooks and ponds and awakening new growth everywhere. This brief poem confirms the author's close connection with nature. Anna's clear imagery and fine focus draw me into the moment, and her strong juxtaposition evokes new insight. It is in the space between the two parts of her haiku, in the words left unwritten, that I discover a deeper level of truth. The poet has chosen her words carefully.