طيبة

Thunder in D.C.

The monuments blur in the downpour, marble softened into watercolor, while slick streets cradle
the slow waltz of umbrellas. The sky folds in on itself, thick with the smell of rain, lightening etching quick silver veins across the dome of humid air. Pavement swallows puddles whole, then spits them back, rippling with headlights, echoes of thunder rolls over the potomac. A low relentless drum, calling the city to pause & listen to the city’s brief sermon on how the world still breathes.

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