A Call From The Clouds

the tin awning pings, repeatedly

a call from the clouds:

look around you

pay attention


the pitter-patter of precipitation

striking lightly, then violently

a mile-wide percussion band

tap dancing on the rooftops


established trees reach upwards

twirling gracefully at center stage

until their arms grow weary

bowing down to the dampened earth


moisture accumulates and seeps

guided by an ingrained

root-seeking missile system

propagating growth and new life


misty skylines and smiling trees

eternally remind, with their maternal nag

that stretching, snapping, and sprouting

serve to exemplify the transient nature of life

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