The distant mumblings of an angry sky can be heard hiding behind the incessant tapping of rain falling down upon my roof. It’s rhythm like a marching band as they beat down on their ferocious drums. The distant angry mumblings a roar of protest. The skies remain dark yet I feel a certainty that if I were to search the abandoned skies I would discover small flashes of speckled light brightening the night skies. Instead I search the insides of my eyelids hoping to find comfort.
Karen Hayward ©2016