like oil-painted angel wings,
the dream white palatial glittering clouds
reflect the glary sunshine
peeking through grey sky.

blue-gray, blue-gray, blue-gray, i mutter,
looking up.
it is hailing,
tiny impacts leave sizzling sensations on my skin.

the weeping trees,
looking like the weather harmed them personally,
creak like my old doors,
or knees,
as my bicycle ratters through the gnarly roof,
their branches build.