Sheets of rain dash across the surface of the pond, driven by bursts of wind. Streamlets of mud snake their way downhill, bleeding into the water, great brown blotches spreading out across the grayish-green reflection from the sky.
Spruce trees shimmy and shake to the tune of the whistling wind while a chorus of traveling geese honk overhead.
Raindrops caught in the twisted branches of bare trees hang like jewels.
The wind careens through the wildflower meadow, dried grasses and flowers pitching and swaying, blurring and blending, the storm creating its own exhibit: Rainy Day Abstracts in the Meadow.
It smells like spring has come for an early and temporary visit. Winter will return tonight, riding in with the wind.
My small stone for Day 17.