Stream


There is a stream of consciousness running through my backyard. It runs fast in the spring and there is a green smell like grass or fresh-cut watermelon when the rain first comes. I saw the sky lowering, and the shadows of the cloud sat heavy over my house. I felt the first rain drop of the year just now; it landed on my forehead. I touched it with my finger. I tasted it. I wonder when another one will come.

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