dripping summer, the streets crying and drown my feet, I persist in dress sandals.
I live in a land of gray skies and trees sad that excuse to be as green sadly bending under the drops. They take a look of circumstance, a tearful and morose air.
I live in a land of gray skies and trees sad that excuse to be as green sadly bending under the drops. They take a look of circumstance, a tearful and morose air.
It is as if the summer was gone, leaving us incredulous and hung in our wet umbrellas closed to the fringes. The calendar shows dates that evoke the sun-tan lotion, naps shady sea-bathing and walking leisurely. The calendar is a liar.
summer has left us arrogant color flowers, which bend in the rain and rust in places, summer dresses too small and too short, children in shorts that stick their faces against the windows fogged.
We begin to think about the reasons for this sudden disaffection. Have we forgotten to praise the sun when he was there? We would we complained about the heat one day last? Would we want the rain for the yellow grass of our gardens?
We do not know ... We do not even know when it was fine. And we do not know if the summer will return.
So we sometimes make outrageous dreams. Our beaches riddled with drops become paradise of white sand, until blindness. Our sea is gray and purple hue of turquoise as to resemble a lake of lapis lazuli. Our campaign dries like a moth African savannah. Our weeping trees heavy with leaves rustling sounds thin and volatile. Our dreams are to live up to our dismay, the poor orphans of the summer we are.
Summer dripping, the streets cry and drown my feet ... I can not stand the rain!
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