on an icy morning.

as rain slithered down the window panes

i thought to myself of dreams,

and how the elements seemed to be an integral part of my soul.

it is on these wet days

that the outdoors hail me.

the finest memories are made of the rain

and the song it sings upon the top of my skull.

pit-a-pat

rat-a-tat

thrum.

'come to me for i am the washer of spirit, the lover of skin'

it calls.

how we need you, where have you gone?

come to the valley. come. come. come.