Number 24 passes us by

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The hiding blue yonder sits behind a stream of gray tones, inky milk overhead,
perspiration of its arduous task slowly, steadily buffeting pavement underneath.
The wind catches unsuspecting umbrellas with playful and frustrating jostles
then rest as if it only harbors the strength for one canopy at a time, just one flicker
of a ferocity far off and unimportant, the slow northeastward trek of the typhoon
only a mild nuisance with short bouts of worthy rain to quench the morning thirst.
On the train the AC is still on, caressing the stuffiness while drops on the window
slide sideways to screen out the graying cityscape blinking past without concern.
Around the bay’s bend the mountains oppress the clouds and weigh them down
like a moist blanket pushing uncertainty back to the now waking world below.
Through this closeness of the morning I make my journey to another day
only half here, the other half quitting the morning to retreat under the covers
beside mother and daughter still silently snoozing as another typhoon walks by.

(dtn)

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