just sitting here with a wind driven rain pelting against the windows and the Red Maple outside bowing to the howling gale.
A cold hard rain soaks the tree denudes its flailing branches stamps a season's exclamation point on the edge of approaching frost. Leafs flutter - stringless kites adrift floating on a mindless wind whistling through shivering steeples mocking the silence of dormant church bells. Wet feathered sparrows taunt the wind cling to the hope of trembling limbs gentle strength against the fury acquiescence without surrender. Darkness falls on a raging gale shrieking in its emptiness seeking an unknown destination. A cold hard rain soaks the tree. John G. Lawless 11/30/2020
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