I should be
    on a verandah
       listening.
The raindrops
    falling, trickling
       tumbling down broad leaves
to tiny golden puffs
    in the dust below.

The steam rises
    between my hands,
       wavers on a breath
then steadies in the morning air.
Tiny sparkles
    in the waking light
       mist my face
with the pekoe scent
    of brisk
       Himalayan
          days.