Scribbles and Gibberish

Something small I wrote this morning.

I see rain falling on concrete houses, wet asphalt pavements, and lonely gravel pieces looking for someone to love.

Trees with barely any leaves left are swaying in the wind, puddles where the water sometimes ripple, and sad dirt on the side of the road.

Happy children in raincoats are holding their parent's hand, kind cats are greeting you with small meows, and the rustic chimneys are welling out smoke that looks soft.