Maybe i could write about storms.
About the rain.
Falling everywhere, soaking everything. Maybe its seeping into my skin, cleansing my bones.
Or maybe its making a tight rope soggy and treacherous somewhere, giving a brave soul anxiety.
Or its coaxing a seed to sprout, softening the ground and creating a sweet earthy aroma.
Its evaporating off the road in the warm summer air.
Its light, a quiet and peaceful mist gracefully showering the fields, hitting the tops of the trees.
And its fierce, pouring onto a tin roof, filling up the low grounds.
Then eyes. The storms swirling inside those. Calm or rageful. Teardrops spilling over eyelashes, sticking to your cheeks. Running down to the corners of your mouth. You can taste them.
Will seeds sprout from these? Will they cleanse bones? Or will these mercilessly toss a soul from a tight rope, or flood its steady ground.
Just light storms. Just a little rain. For tonight.