Pitter Patter

I love it when The Skies cry at night. Their falling tears, an unmistakable sign that stress, heartache and sorrow are being washed from the streets, to be seen no more – at least not until the next flood arises. And even as I lay warm and dry under the covers, tomorrow's clear horizon is tonight's promise of better days and greater things to come.


I hear the murmur of negativity but curtains blind my sight toward the happenings beyond the pane. But even as I do not see, I know... it's happening. Flashing lights make way for groans hurriedly uttered, muttered and just as quickly forgotten. With unparalleled ease and unbridled strength, Negativity is sent crashing to the ground, only to be lost in the sands I'll tread on tomorrow.


I pull at the curtains and allow my eyes room for a peek. It's funny but I can almost feel the cool of the tiny, clear bullets of liquid crystal I see coming toward me. And even as they land just inches from my face, I wish they'd reach out to touch me. I wouldn't shy away if they did. But they tease and taunt then slither Southwards, only to flatten out into nothingness at the touch of ground.


The ticking clock seven strides to my left tells me that tomorrow draws nearer with every tock I ignore. The Ticks bully the Tocks into submission so every Tock obediently follows a Tick. No questions asked. And now, the round clock looks me square in the face and tells me that Tomorrow's a-comin' much sooner than I'd anticipated.