By S. T. Broeckx
It is fast-paced, lazy, slow, flower-scented, tropical-breeze-building clouds rippling in the heavy sky with a combination white cotton dirty gray wool.
The clouds burst and drop more water than I have seen in months.
The people have gathered into the recesses of the architectural pythagorean shadows.
Once hidden, the people are now lost in thought as to what they will do, where they will go, and how they will get there.
It is despair that has flushed them into the shadows and out of the rain as they get washed away into the abyss of time and drowned in unfulfilled lives.
I remember once when I was biking through Central Park in NYC and it started to rain. I was near the famous fountain and people started to run to get under some old architectural design. It was a hot day. I kept riding my bike around the fountain in the rain just not understanding why everyone was hiding. They looked at me like I was crazy. But the bottom line is, you can’t stay dry and be an artist at the same time. I liked your story.