Dissatisfactions

The sky merely drools. That's the only way to describe this sluggish rain that has persisted all day and evening. Now and then a more energetic sprinkle falls, but it never lasts for more than a few seconds. There is no drumming to engage my attention, no gusts of wind to spatter even the briefest tattoo against my dry and silent windows. This is an aged dullard of a storm, mopey and muttering to itself, saying nothing worth my attention. I hope for a more robust rain, to bring some drama to the night and fill the woods with sprightly rivulets. Were it not for the distant chorus of frogs, I wouldn't even bother to go outside and listen, though the cool air is pleasant. This is no way for March to begin.

( Sunday Verse )