Hold Fast

In spite of simulated water, you cast your anchor anyway, trying to find something to hang on to. Hitting bottom, dragging dust, you faced the sky and watched as close to weeping clouds drifted by, and wished that you were up there with them.  And all the while, the grass brittled, and turned brown.

Then at that point of just beyond brave, and before losing hope, of questioning darkness and weary of dreaming, in the midst of the night, on that brittle brown grass, it rained.

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