Omerta
Crime scene
The trees take an edgy stance - reaching up, and drawing down rain from the cloud’s belly with lightning white and sharp like a knife flashed before the eyes at midnight on a dark street. The leaves are huddled together, crowded about the branches with the blank and nondescript faces of bystanders avoiding involvement – happening to be there for some reason – not giving names. Now the street of the sky is emptying, the thunder gutters out leaving no trace, letting silence fill the space of an event no-one will remember clearly as day returns to secure the scene. The sun asks sharp questions, receiving no answer but the vague steam vapouring off the hot tar, evaporating from roads, roofs, and the slick silent trunks of the trees ganged together. They will not confess. They have sealed their conspiracy with the efficient wind, watching it sweep away the last evidence of cloud, the faint stains of rainbow, the final scraps of grey, forgetting just one thing – a single witness.



We are all playing out the same dramas at all levels of the biosphere. Round up the usual suspects ...
I love the ‚efficient wind‘ perfect!