The clouds were grey, and pregnant with rain,

waiting to fall on the world below.

The people of the city await

for the wetness that will soak them,

and in anticipation

traffic starts to slow.

The parks empty

as children go home

to play inside

rather than out.

And birds settle down,

in the branches of trees,

rather then flutter.


put away their mowers

glad that the cutting is done.

The air felt heavy,

thick with moisture,

with a smell of static

that foreshadows

the lightning to come.

And in the graveyard

stone statues stand,

waiting for the rain

that will mimic the tears

they cannot shed

for those that have gone.