i wake up half an hour later than i had intended
to a rustling: a heavy bowling ball
scraping against the clouds
thunder rolling through the massive alley-sky.
i wrap myself in miles of cool sheets
and drag the whole heap to the window
grey sky kisses my eyes with dull lips.
another set of echoes stirs,
swirls around my livingroom walls.
single droplets parachute from the sky
plop.
plop.
and then
plop plop plop.
an orchestra/symphony of summer rain
drumming out the heartbeat for the newborn day.
oh sky,
oh forehead of morning
let me gently slither back behind these curtains
(you tiptoe back heavenward)
and leave me to my journey on the road to dreams.
*no place like home*
.fairy tales.
next road note.
