I think the weather is confused.

Those low, heavy hanging clouds, so full they ought to burst. They're so dark, they're tidings of the days to come. I can see the rain, pushing against the clouds containing it. They're so soft and delicate, I don't know how those clouds hold back the rain, straining so heavily against their pretty bounds.

But the days these days are so warm. Like summer doesn't want to let go of the world just yet. It holds tight, griping close to the corners of buildings and rooftops. The summer sticks in my lungs, keeping hold like it does around the outside world.

The heat dries out my hard, hot, heart.

But the rain rich clouds give me hope, that soon my thirsty soul will be quenched.