a slow and gentle rain
calls
and falls
on street-slap feet. i
conquer 2.5, alive with the scent
of skywater on skin and a new
day to begin. the drops become
a rhythm, a rhyme, a song, the
long slow way my legs measure
each (not-quite-yet) mile. the
horizon’s got a nightlight, and
nowhere to go but here.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
Alright, don’t know how you donit; run and write at that hour of the day. I’m glad you got some skywater. Good job!