It is wet from recent rainfall. The droplets soak into the knee of my jeans And I continue to kneel anyway.
I gaze at the horizon- I see the black clouds coming- As if they are tormentors- Returning to haunt my world.
I kneel in the field and watch the storm come. I see blue tongues flicker threw the air. I here their booming hiss as it shatters the peace.
I can see there dripping venom fall from miles away.
The storm is coming.
I feel the first drops of sin land on my shoulders and face. I stand as if anything I do could change the inevitable. I am blasted with the force of mockery.
The storm is here.
I am enveloped in the torrent. It lashes against me. As if to mock my protest a tree some hundred yards ahead shatters in a blue explosion. A chunk of shrapnel clips my leg, I wonder if it got wet from the drops in the knee of my jeans.
♤
I kneel back onto the grass. The soaking ground ignores my soaking jeans.
I stand and look into the horizon Black clouds are all I see.