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.