Warm, humid air filled with falling leaves, leaking sweet rain, but this rain has no effect.

As he sits under an old oak tree lost in his world

Big, Blue, Electric eyes, hair blowing and unkept

Nails bitten and hands calloused as he holds the pencil improperly

Constantly scribbling away drafting his mind

Scripting thoughts and hopes onto blowing paper.

Paper wet with tears from the sky, and rain from his eyes; I step closer and marvel.

Around him the earth is wet and green

Still in his eyes I see the world's dreams burning bright as fire

Unseen, unthinkable in the night

It holds his words of wisdom.

Waiting for him to manipulate them

Slowly, only knowing the power of words in his personal hopes.

I walk to the tree. “ is it noisy there? Is that why you write in the silence of the rain?”

Just a whisper, barely a sound- still, not knowing if he heard I clear my throat

He glances around, he looks past me still thinking of his words, his eyes fixate on me

A pale, cold color, a sly, small grin comes to his face as he opens his mouth

I disolve into his answer, falling in its depth; such a short response yet it burns in me

Then he closes his eyes, standing as he flexes his cramped hands and I walk away hopelessly,

treading in his answer melting with his words.

I go back to his answer, breathless with awe

“ I just sat here to write when it started to rain; contrary to what you think it doesn't mean a thing.”