Strange Writing
Comments 17

Haibun 7

March brings the rain. It starts off light, covering every branch, blade of grass and spider web with a fine mist. The droplets start to form, and patter against the side walks. They fatten and settle into a steady drumming. Puddles form, the ground softens.

The drumbeat picks up and a stream begins to run down the street. A wind picks up and changes the meter to double time, lashing the trees, driving a river down the pavement. The mud traps my feet, and water stings my face while roaring in my ears.

All I can do is clench my eyes shut and clamp my hands over my ears to shut out the madness until the world is silent again.

rain’s cacophony

deafening, unrelenting

drowning out the world


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