Keep pouring, strainers are we.

One strange thing about the rain? It reveals all of the leaks.

Heavy rains are out today. Don’t knock the weather. Ready or not, new cloud is on your way.

Gripped with bitter cold, ice-locked, vision blurred with dense fog. The cold sun is just setting bashing some colder lavender hill. I wonder if the snow loves the trees and field, as it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt. The road is soaked with rain and sparkling under the street-lamps, like a lake reflecting strings of lights. A bitter wind, whipped at my face, its howling forming the high notes of symphony. The evening lacked none of winter’s rough poetry.

The sky was back to a milky-grey and the dripping trees were a darker shade of green; but the most striking change— hottest week is gone and the flip flops have found their destination

The sky goes from shady gray to more or less black and noisy thunder snap escort the opening ceremony of few raindrops that plunge. Heavy, gentle, life-size drops, they soak us in seconds, like an inverted bucket from the atmosphere dumping just on our head.