It had been at least five years since the last rains had gloriously fallen and refreshed the parched earth. Today every head gazes upwards as clouds begin to form in groups of hopeful liquid bounty. There is a real buzz around the town with many making predictions from aching joints and bunions, with aged opinions freely given.
But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter against the blue cloth of the sky, for the very young. Enthralled the children run around pointing and laughing at the tapestry forming above them, not really understanding the happiness that's flowing from their young hearts.
As the clouds come together they begin to thicken and darken, pregnant with rain, obliterating the sky-blue fabric above. A holy hush ensues as the people stand watching and waiting. They are not disappointed as the clouds burst wetly open.....
A dverse poets prompt to write a 'prosery' of no more than 144 words. The selected lines below, from Constance Urdang's poem 'Clouds', must be included within the prosery.
"But these clouds are clearly foreign, such an exotic clutter against the blue cloth of the sky."
Here is the Link: Clouds