The rain down the window

Books for writers. Try it. I love it! A great blog.

From that blog, I have written a small piece.

From the dark grey clouds, which crackle with sadness, with dispair, with anger, the clear water falls. Rain gracefully dives from their cloudy homes, distorting blurred images as they whizz down. Through the air the drops cut, slicing like hot knifes through butter, maybe faster.
When the drop finally hits something, it splatters, sending tiny droplets to a similar fate. In puddles it merges, water to water, two making one, bigger than before.
On the ground it lies, wounded, crying silently for help. Soaking down through the dirt, trying to seep through the hard concrete, rolling dismally down blades of slippery grass.
And down the same slippery-like surface, the rain rolls, water splashing on the window, then slipping down, to collect in the holes of the window-sill. And eyes stare out the window, splattered with rain, and the horrible, empty, dark-down feeling penatrating the very mind, the very soul.

Love to y'all,
neina-marie, a buzzin' bee