...and Sugar Plums Danced in Their Heads...

While water laden heavens deeply inhale before releasing its impending torrential siege -- the world is heavy ...and still. Every sound suspended within the frosty morning air.


The sky sags, a hushed, grey canopy stitched together with misty vapors and trapped light. Whisper-fine rain begins to swirl within the sudden gusts of wind -- the opening show for the enormous drops that follow -


Angels falling slowly at first, perfect, orphaned, drifting, falling, lonely through the grey skirts of the December sky.