blooms disheveled
by yesterday's storms,
shine brightly today.
Sunny Day [Haiku]
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A road lined with burnt out junkers,
And garbage fires 'round which hunker
Cold souls sitting in drizzling rain --
That rain, that rain, their eternal bane.
Blue skies are a distant memory --
Except for in every reverie
That denies claustrophobic skies
The main villain role - e'er reprised.
Where's our long-lost hero, the sun?
Have stout clouds got him on the run?
Or maybe our hero 's bleeding out;
Its feeble showing leaves room for doubt.
What is your favorite type of weather?
Depends on whether I’m outside or inside. If the former, I favor the partly cloudy to sunny range, depending on how brutal or gentle the sun is, respectively. If the latter, I’ve got nothing against a cleansing torrential downpour.
What’s your favorite month of the year? Why?
In temperate climates, I like early Autumn — say, October. In the tropics, whatever period is neither intensely hot nor intensely monsoon-y, is aces. Where I’m at now: November through March.
Why? I overheat when it’s hot, and that’s unpleasant. I’m fine with rain, but being constantly waterlogged is no fun. I like a cool Goldilocks zone.
Trapped on the island by typhoon. It's evening dark, though at high noon. The waves are wild and still rising. So, ferries won't be running soon. The few streets there are lie silent, but - seaside - the winds whip violent. We hide inside a bungalow, and hope it's fixed firmer than my tent. One 's always where it's most remote when they cancel all ferryboats: where there're too many thoughts to think, and few distractive antidotes.
It rains for days on end in this city. The people peer out under umbrellas. Nothing 's washed clean; it's soggy & gritty and brutal as a Kafka novella. The streets aren't light, but nor are they true dark. The light isn't absent, just sapped of vim. The gray that remains is like Fall in Denmark. Relentless rain is relentlessly grim. The gutters are glutted with murk and sludge. The rushing waters can't sweep it all clean. All work 's drudgery and all walks a trudge, and there's no sparkle in the pavement sheen. Do some "sing in the rain?" No, they just mock -- their umbrella flipped out and w/ sodden socks.