It happened this evening.
Amidst the animated, somewhat colourful nature.
Birds chirped. Trees swayed.
And the sky changed colours.
But not the way man does.
It began with a baby blue, turned to a warm yellow
And settled on a peachy orange.
Sorbet hues that you’d want to drink at once.
But you wouldn’t.
You like the dark gloomy skies.
That come with a screaming thunder
But unruffled on the surface.
A gulp of the finest scotch settles the storm within
And you miss that pretty drizzle.
Drizzle. That kisses the murky soil.
Drizzle. That refreshes the soul.
Drizzle. That reignites hope.
Of dewy windows and misty roads.
Of coffees and conversations.
Of rum and cokes.
Of passionate kisses under crisp white blankets.
Of impulsive promises.
I’m assuming you’re up now.
It’s a cool, grey evening.
But I’ll have to return to bed.
After all, it was just a drizzle.
The rain is still a long way.