I call the rain, each drop a wish, a hope, a trouble bubbling. They free-fall through the atmosphere, then congregate, often teasing gravity further while they form rivulets, brooks, and cataracts. They tickle the hills of the land with troubles, hopes, and wishes. The hills hold them close. They hug away the wanting. "You are perfect," the hills comfort. "We need you to keep us green, just as our green breathes you out so you can rejoin the clouds." Each drop smiles from this love, each splash more fulfilling than the last while they soak in the darkness of soil.
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StretchesThe brain needs to stretch before working out just as much as the body. Welcome to my stretch zone of stories in 100 words, and perhaps other bits. Archives
September 2019
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