The raindrops roll nervously along the floor of the cloud to the open hatches that wait for them. Similar to that of WW11 parachuters preparing themselves to be dropped into gunspiked lands.
The raindrops have no parachutes.
They fight for the back of the line and pray to land in the sea, heaven for them.
A river, a stream a puddle, anything but a dry land.
The thunder rumbles with impatience.
No comments:
Post a Comment