Another dry gust blew with profane anger. From behind the windowpane I saw plastic bags and scraps flailing the streets. The godless oppressive wind, flapping from the southeast then from the northeast, and infused with the sickly breaths of teetotaler pawnbroker merchants, and skunky with the sweat of racketeering hajjes, harassed the green trees in the coulee. They writhed, close to despair, then bent down only to protect their naked saplings.
The cold lashed and puffed with arid impotence. The chair upon which I sat, the bookcase and the nightstand by my side moaned with pain, their old walnut bodies crying for moisture. The shutters outside shivered in the grip of the grim reaper, almost giving up their hinges, when the inevitable sea-wind of fall came at last. It started to rain, slowly at first then with an orgasmic rhythm.
A big storm is on its way. I'm longing to walk in the rain, to wash away the grime that soiled the mind and the smut that tainted the soul. I don't wanna cover my head anymore nor pull up my collar around the neck. I just wanna walk and get wet. I wanna come clean.
Photo above courtesy of http://rapid-downloadss.blogspot.com