The winds have spoken. Those windowpanes have harkened much. Thunderous skies burst forth rain like dewfall then thickens— into splashes. Lustrous pearls Come down, dripping from walls to street floors. The cold boots step on but not completely. Chilling those spines—pilgrims and those who slumber, Fate should have known.
Fingers reduce to Silence...caressing those transparent crystals… forming smokey figures across.
