Spring wind before a storm-
not cold,
not warm.
Like the embodiment of change
softly caressing my face,
Distant rumbles of thunder
in a faraway place.
There's a smell with the breeze,
Not a smell,
More a tease.
An indescribable air
that sends chills down my spine,
Ask of my favourite weather;
this weather is mine.
Here a single drop lands-
on my arm,
on my hands.
While the grey clouds decide
that it is time to rain,to rain
With the drops falling faster
Again and again.
YOU ARE READING
Reflections of an Idle Mind
DiversosI'm finding I like to write a little before I go to sleep, and I figured I'd do it on here as much as I'd do it on my notes. Each part is seperate, and could be an idea for a story, something I just felt like writing, or a poetic blurt of feelings...
