Summer Rain
The trees dance, bending and swaying in the warm and gusty wind building in the west.
The gray clouds rub their fat underbellies on the mountains below as they scud across the horizon.
The sky darkens to a soft purple—the shade of the plums now ripening in the trees.
A sudden hush gentles the wind and the trees go still, their branches outstretched, waiting on the next act.
The sky is a large, painful bruise, ominous and threatening.
A small child looks up from her sidewalk play to stare at the trees; they no longer whisper; they no longer dance.
And then she feels the first raindrops, light and wet on her arm, like unsure teardrops.
She lifts her closed eyes to listen to the wave of the rain crashing overhead.
The gray clouds rub their fat underbellies on the mountains below as they scud across the horizon.
The sky darkens to a soft purple—the shade of the plums now ripening in the trees.
A sudden hush gentles the wind and the trees go still, their branches outstretched, waiting on the next act.
The sky is a large, painful bruise, ominous and threatening.
A small child looks up from her sidewalk play to stare at the trees; they no longer whisper; they no longer dance.
And then she feels the first raindrops, light and wet on her arm, like unsure teardrops.
She lifts her closed eyes to listen to the wave of the rain crashing overhead.