| There is a soft rain falling outside, and I can hear the thunder off in the distance. Crashing. Booming. Demanding to be heard. The wind in the trees has quickened it's dance, as the lightning illuminates each leaf. A storm is moving in. Growing closer with each raindrop. I can hear the sirens begin, signally some fool sped up on the wet asphalt. I can smell the wet earth, mingled with pollution. I can see the puddles forming, future pools for the singing birds. Walking out into the now pouring rain, I can feel it cleanse my soul and touch my heart. A storm is moving in. And I wait ... ... Not for the passing, But for the new life it brings. |
| GlassPoet ~2001 |
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