Canary Sheen

Sharp rain comes down like falling pencils that bounce on the asphalt. Winds wash waves across the street, collecting oil and debris before flowing into the gutters and ebb into the sewers; cleansing the streets of everything but the scent of rain on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I walk outside to taste raindrops until the sun begins shinning; wilting the petals of north-facing daffodils and sapping them of their canary sheen.
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