Like rainy and summer decided a truce.
The perfect transition, an evening to use.

Fine drizzles all over the place,
Cycle, earphones and necessary bass.

The clouds making the road patchy,
The water making some grouchy.

Oh the voids that monsoons fill,
My anticipation for God's good will.

Consumed in my spirit, I look up to the clouds.
50? 1,000? 10,000!? Oh the liters above!

Guiding a simple path, dirty waters clear my eye.
Not from below but from the sky. Dirty waters? Born guilty of why.

With a hint of depreciation I get along.
Finding a soul after soul to cling on.

Talking to none, looking at as-many,
Never tire, gathering earth's bounty.

Photos do half the job, the people do the rest.
In a state of transition, forever a quiet, passing guest.