It's no secret, we've had more than out fair share of rain this year, in all parts of the country. A friend was describing how his driveway was beginning to resemble a babbling brook, and this gave me a nudge to write a little something for a Flash, seeing as how it's Friday again, and the G-man, alias Mr Knowitall, is hovering. Here it is then, with no further ado, a little splash of exactly fifty five words.
There, on a path where water is rushing
over shingled drive not intended for gushing
streams, leaves huddle, form a raft.
Without map or compass this craft
will continue to dance to skirling song
of wind and rain. Who knows how long
the piper has called this same tune
in other lands, under different moons?