Rumors of the wind’s circulation shattered the umbrella realm in the union with the weathered alliance. 

Pieces of torn shreds of the umbrella, its seams unraveled threads are ripped in the disarray of euphoria in the storms in forms and seasons. 

The umbrella tossed upward onto the treetops winds itself in orbital torrents of circular dynamics, captive on branches of ordered trees. 

Uttered one word of dislocated ribs bent in acrobatic ways of unaltered silent truth. 

Out of my hand danced here and there in the storms laughter and feast at my anger and disarray. 

So complicated the intricate dominations of branches, leaves, and things indicating the layout of designs to whisper a form of art unkept of interlaced design. 

The storm, accompanied by rain, took me unaware that I had entered the open glade. The forest parted at a distance on the way. 

Layers of dark shroud kept the sun’s direction at bay, the rain abated, and another tempest was about to breathe its last tribulation of the day. 

My sigh of breath, the distant sea king’s reign of overlordship teaching sea daughters to the propelling of my umbrella up into the air, running its course up there in torrents of more rain and sea. 

The fondness of forgotten umbrellas of non-being tossed and swept away on the wet pavement of the cities of intensity wept tears.

Through the window in the rainy moments, unfocused tones of circular hues in the confusion of beaded droplets of illuminated cities in the murmur of the tumultuous reign of kingdom spurned by rain. 

I sat by the rains, entertained by my awareness of tranquility’s resonance. The raindrops trickled downward onto the grassy floors, and I meditated in the raiment of the undiscovered droplets that had fallen onto forgotten fields on tones of pulsated light. 

One touch of droplet fell descended on the window pane, the hues it reflected tainted no more by the once-aversion I had since admired in a revelation of ecstasy.

One of the droplets of rain in myriad eternities on windows stained with a thousand glasses of water, many droplets as contained in the core of an atom.

Water ever in eternity in one pulse, I entered its domain and wished to attain investigation of water’s rare self; I sought its voice that spoke. 

My peace remained. Rains poured over the terrain, and in visions of distant mist, I held the windows as drizzle formed.

With each drop torn to reach my tempest finger at ease, I sought the iridescent world inside a translucent bottled glass of sorts, soaring out of its prison, out of its labor arising out of torrential storms. 

Windows kept me out of the reach of a storms anger and suicide reached through its tears, I wondered out into the plain, in thought, behind the window pane, never spread along the terrain eternity. 

Subtle whispers, rings, and substantial echoes, I perceived celestial omniscience of the thunderstorm’s core, lightening sustained of representations of veins across the canopied sky. 

 In ways of rivers of light, fissures of the filament inched their destination like streams, travelers in light arcing in trajectories of far and wide vistas.         

With one pin of a drop, the azure sky cleared, the wisp of cumulus clouds abated, incessant reverberations held in tranquil suspension, and the furor of storms ceased, that of a world in a droplet of transformation.  

Peace pervades rhythm, two trickles as I’m dreaming of abated storms, it soon ceased, I was awakened out of my dream, and waters rushed down the roof of the abode. 

Sounds of pain, in that isolated single drop, to burn then remain in memories that in higher realms of the morning sun’s rays leave aside storm clouds temporarily. 

Wonders in slight winds that might bring back storms as it moved across the sun, sought tension, I grasped what it might had said. 

 The contrast of light in and out of the canopy, the rains had passed, memories reached somewhere else, silence, the remains of rain descend to the ground arduous.

What remains of one drop isn’t the condition, the authority of the gods had passed, the storm crossed, the umbrella was pulled down and unnecessary. 

Waters held rhythms whatever conformation they grasped, ticking instants, memories of the rain outside, books of open pages of illustrations fairies born in a drop like a tear, the cascaded water heard in the mountains, still other umbrellas lost to a gust of wind. 

Like ornaments of gatherings a thousand hued umbrellas flying through the air resembling sails open on the vast seas nowhere they are going unfurled of unions traveling to their own destined paths.      

Translucent bubbles of plastic, slight rains drizzled on its surface, the sun pierced through as an arrow, traveling to the rainbow colored seas, faded to the horizon, it become afar out to the seas.  

A drizzle, then wide rainfall, in the inland forest that hadn’t sustained their destinies, as individual drops obtained in unions wide burst of a more sudden shower that the storms resumed once more. Umbrellas held high, colorful patterns among people who strolled the high walls of the city once again.     

As April comes to its gate, it downpours with more rain than needed, causing the pavements to be torn, eaten by more rain obtained in seconds, not hours.

In the drenched pavement reflections are made, like mirrors of points of light designed to their own rhythmic dance upon the sky as they are scattered in the constant gales, the gleaming colors of high buildings in opened nights that seemed lonely as reflected lights intensified, it was a lone umbrella upon the pavement.