I told the clouds that I’d grown tired of this endless gray weather. But the clouds, being clouds, paid no mind. They draped the sky, unmoved, unchanging, heavy.
As if to punctuate their apathy, they laughed— a thunderous, booming laugh— and poured their oceans through my thinning patience.
Admitting defeat, I retreated indoors, rain stitching the windows shut, the gutters speaking in tongues, my coffee cooling while the storm kept on without me.
The Truth About Tigers 