summer_storm raze and so i've learned their thunder is always worse than their rain. no summer storm ever lives up to its name. but each time the sky writes cheques its clouds aren't prepared to cash, we carry what we can't afford to lose and find a place for it inside where the air is cool and dry. we get morsels in lieu of a promised meal. a little thunder here. some small transient torrent there. what rain deigns to wet our faces turns the sand to cinnamon, and every day i walk this way i see a monarch butterfly. just one. it must be the same wandering queen who keeps coming back to find me. it must be you. 220805 what's it to you? who go blather from