Rain during the night,
thunk, thunk, thunk in the rain spout. The streets are wet. The sky is grey still. Birds sang in spite of everything, our silly, lovely birds, these emblems that life is good, even if it's raining.
The robins in the driveway look fat and grumpy, however cheerful the song. I think they may be wet.
As I head north out of the village, rain spatters the windshield of the pick-up. Rain hangs like grey gauze in the distance. Ssssst go the tires on asphalt.
A blackbird pecks at small stones along the shoulder of the highway, its feathers humped against the weather.
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