Bless the weather

a writing by Roy Greenan Paton

A storm is brewing, like a pot of freshly made tea just waiting to be poured.Forcasts can be like horoscopes.Predictions ,prescriptions and addictions to a force unknown.Whirling unconcerning, eventuating in outcomes known,like casting a stone set in concrete.Illusions, delusions deep rooted confusion, the weather they say is a global skin that needs the wind to listen until it speaks it's mind, thunder can speak many tongues and the lightning bulbs blow ,Yes a storm is on the way,passing thru the distant cloud like summer time pretending to be otherwise.I sit and wait,just now an ancient glow appears to the sky and inhales one deep last breathe inside the closet of clusters.Fire engines going to the places they are meant to go,further a field underneath where the echo slowly disappears, like the training of a mind that re appears inside the minds of great men and women,cats and dogs and other things that feel and deal with a sometimes artifical code of conduct.All I know is that crickets and grasshoppers play a game unknown to man,a space frontier,a long jump specialist from Bury elapsed a figure in time,declined to say why, but you know the truth is hard to find,especially when it's so close,looking far away I see the summer of a thousand wishes spread thru out the day, Yes to the playlist of a daily routine and yes to the figurine on display at the bend on the back of the haystack,sometimes thoughts can be like that, appearing and disappearing.The rain has started, I'm happy,rearrange the frame and disarm with refrain,go inside and meet yourself.Introducing,reproducing a certain kind of feel,you know the one, it speaks to you with a silent voice.The heavens have now opened for business.

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