Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Storm's Edge

The sky feels heavy, and smells of fog
          (although there is none there)
The darkened flowers and ground-drenched showers
         Weave whispers pair-by-pair

A bank of billows, dark and fearful,
         now creep across the sky,
Encroaching slowly the sun-swept valley.
         We don't see them, you and I.

Our gaze is northward, where sunlight shines -
         A bridge across the green -
And like that crossing, soon too our passing
         Is swept completely clean.

The first drops strike, and startle our sense -
         The sun it still shines bright.
But glancing behind, what once was sun-shined
         Has turned from day to night.

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A webjournal of ideas, comments, and various other miscellany from a Texan university student (with occasional input from his family) living in Toronto, Ontario. Can you say "culture shock?"

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