proverbial rain

and when my mind folds into the warm dark blue hue
of quiet that lies below the hushed whispers of a morning mist
that grew into clouds, rolling their body over the last few
shadows of the night, before the sun flew a curveball
of yellow – splashing the world in lemonade – when my mind fades
in between the fine lines rippling of the sunlight and the shade
scratched by leaves, i’m left to believe that what remains in question
can be answered, if we listen to the proverbs written by the rain

written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: trance

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