Monday 2 January 2012
Gropple
At first you could see it gathering in bunches in between the green blades of grass. Filling up the spaces a million spheres covering the ground. Sometimes it was thick and clinging together. But, suddenly it would change to a ball resembling laundry detergent. Gropple, I believe it is called - stacking up in separate little styrofoam pieces on top of the windshield wipers on my windshield of my car as I drove home. Later, I check to see if the sky is still working. Still there is a tap-dancing on my slant of the roof outside the window, the white is brushed across the black shingles. It pours down quickly growing mini mountains erasing all the green.
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1 comment:
What a beautiful prose poem!
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