1st Fugue
Dissonant
The world has turned to water.
It falls from the sky. It strikes tree leaves and grass blades, leaving momentary illusions of morning dew. It sluices across the rooftops, it flows down windows. It gathers in puddles and in waves across the city streets. It rushes past backed-up drains, rises into houses, up to shins, up to knees.
The children are playing in it, in its brown tint, laughing and jumping and swimming and splashing cars as they go by.
The cars roll past quickly, afraid that their engines will soon drown, and splutter, and die.
I fall asleep, listening to the tapping of the rain on my window, the engine whirring beneath me, the low rumbling of distant thunder.
Today is the first day of summer.
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