Cloud cover and rainy days

challenge my wings.

I enjoy the change, the rumbling

of intention, flashes of

heavenly combat releasing

mist before it pours.


Rain is the old of the skies

washing everything new.

Like a baby waking, crying

over everything, making day

come to them.


Rain brings up a delirium

of joy. I charge onto a path

without the sun hiding

its face, not far on the upside of

clouds, in the atmosphere of



There are no bad days of rain,

just a coat, hat and a spirit

willing to get wet.


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