Perfect timing

Each new task unfolds
Tools and workstations
Leapfrogging out from
The cellar, then out 
from under the deck
Sprawling across the lawn
Grey clouds billow
Fire eats the scraps
Piles of parts processed
And moved to the next.
Sun and clouds engaged
In a pillow fight.
And as the last plank is cut
The clouds, as if that was
An invitation, fill in
The wind turns damp
Tools brushed off and brought back in
Materials piled and tarpaulined
With the last hook of bungee
The first drops come



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