The trees are blowing there isn’t wind, yet I can feel it’s harshness against my skin.
There’s something about a storm that’s calming though I don’t like thunder, they say that cold makes one ponder.
I don’t like rain but it’s nice and refreshing after it’s done, the clouds look as if there will be another one.
Birds are taking shelter yet here I sit, I see natures warnings and choose to ignore it.
The world gets a bath I rather be inside, here I sit scoffing at what I deny.
Rainy days keep us cooped up why not sit in the rain, little kids like to marvel at what will remain.
The structure I sit on it’s wet and I sit on a towel, like getting wet is our undoing somehow.
I no longer hear thunder maybe the storm has passed, the level of grey in the clouds is rather vast.
They say the calm is before the storm but I would have to decline, I think that the calm comes after and we are merely steps behind.
The cold air fills my lungs as I take another drag, it would seriously be a burden to have to go back inside.
The sun shines through the clouds and all of a sudden the cold air is warm, I guess there will not be another storm.