I call foul...

Suddenly this defeat. This rain. The blues gone gray. And the browns gone gray. And yellow. A terrible amber. In the cold streets, his warm body laid out for everyone to mock and pity. In whatever room his warm body, on display for everyone to see as a warning. Among all the people, his absence rings over any semblance of dignity that might be left. The people who are always there, except him, now with a washed away soul. He has been easy with trees for far too long. Too familiar with mountains. Joy has been a habit. Now, suddenly, this rain.