There’s a confetti storm coming;
Thought I should move.
Grab my umbrella and
Take off my shoes.
Polka-dotted clouds
Gather in the sky.
Out falls a swing
10 stories high.
Notes: What can I say? My mind comes up with stuff like this, and I find it written down in my journal (months ago). Meanwhile, I’d totally forgotten about it until I saw it there a few nights ago and laughed. It seems unfinished, so maybe more will come through sometime. But for now, I leave you with the idea of a “confetti storm”–my kind of weather.
Diary of a Mystic Gypsy 