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Raining

The sky is blanketed with a film of washed out gray.  The hushed, soft drops of rain caress the wanting green.  They sound their landing with a tender, cushioned plop.  A candle flickers on the sill illuminating droplets and rendering them crystals.  Seemingly  forsaken, a willow weeps, her tendrils sway like golden feathers in the faint whisper of a muted breeze.  Brush bristle pine boughs sag and glisten, soused with tiny beads of wet sky.  The stillness paints a calm and directs the soul reticent.  Placidity is welcomed like a lover.  Arms open, heart brimming with sincerity and a conscience filled with utter contentment. 

This moment is the breath of simplicity and I am grateful.

Freestanding Freestanding 51-55, F 9 Responses Jul 30, 2009

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It's just...words, silvrsurfr. ;)

Is it a story? Is it poetry?...Its Stoetry ...( poetory doen't quite work)...Thanks Nancy

a wee bit more than bits.

A wee bit more than bits, eh?

Know her in bits and like her in loads.

You do know her, don't you?

"Brush bristle pine boughs sag and glisten, soused with tiny beads of wet sky."

That's the Nancy I know -- savoring the simple beauty and singing of its wonders.

Thank you friend.

Beautiful.