One last time?

From across the room, the sound comes though the door, along the face of the window and down from the ceiling.  Rain sings along the street out front.  The calla lilies out front fill with the water beading up along their silky white bloom.  Across the hills, tendrils of fog waft upward from the forest in a great cycle of the water returning skyward.  Today, this place is painted all green and grey – spring on hold while winter reaches out once more to soothe us maybe one last time before it all goes away into summer.

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