(no subject)
I sat on the cold wooden floor in front of the glass
door that led out to the front yard - eating a cookie,
watching the rain. The whole world seemed to glow
with a new vitality - luridly, greyer, but more
vigorous than anything draped in the sun before.
The hoary stones that lined the surface of the
concrete seemed to move beneath the murmuring
puddles - as if disturbed, shifting from a deep sleep.
Each leaf on the nearby flowers and trees glistened
in its own tone. And the sky's own versatility.
It's perpetual unrest.