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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Other >> ID #1417093 |
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It starts
small. Tiny little droplets hit the roof, pitter-pattering, leaving mud on the shingles, like brown tears running down a ramp. The wind joins the rain to form a storm. It screams and the rain stomps, creating a loud sound on the roof. Windows, left open, welcome the rain in. It drops into the house like a thief, scaring the cat on the windowsill out of its wits. It screeches and runs away. The thunder applauds. The wind, not wanting to be forgotten, decides to blow harder. Trees shake, tremble, frightened of the rain. Branches fall off of their waving arms. The rain pours down, buckets and buckets of water from the heavens. Sensing the end of its reign and rain, a last pitiful bolt of lightning flashes, wanting to keep the storm going. The storm is declining, the thunder quieting, the wind stopping The rain is all that is left, dropping quietly embracing the house that so willingly let it fall onto it. The people arrive, unaware of the drama that they have just missed. All they see is a wet house, broken trees, and more work to do. They missed the rain. They missed the storm. They missed their chance.
© Copyright 2008 S. P. Gale (UN: jpopes43 at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
S. P. Gale has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |