If I miss anything about humidity,
it would be the morning mist
sprawled across the grass like a sleeping cat,
or the dew glittering on a spider’s web,
fog so heavy the schools are closed,
or deer standing like teenagers
at their first dance, knee-deep
in a hazy field at dusk, eyes glowing.
Or it might be fireflies on clover,
moss growing on the side of trees,
mushrooms and lichens in the woods,
or windows covered with tiny green frogs.
Living in a dry climate, those
are the things I might have missed.