After Misky’s post: 29.1.22: I’ve Been Thinking
In the morning still the quiet stamp of rain and chickens crooning. I take out my fiction examine the creases in half one way and then flip i chew my bottom lip afraid of tearing... such fragile invention but this morning there's a feeling that Icarus' flight might leave a steamy trail smelling of wax and wet feathers and the singeing of dreams. Rain gently puddles in my son's wheelbarrow promising vases a drink on the house Precipitate: a summing of ideas, the pith of the storm. Rain makes a fine day for wisdom.