The rain has been pouring the entire day, but on the kitchen roof one most contrary cat prances. She refuses to seek shelter.
Back and forth she scampers, staring blithely through the skylight. Oblivious. Defiant. Her coat is a raincoat. My legs are the towel as she swishes around them.
The kitchen worktops, dining table, office desk and laptop lid show the muddy steps of her rain dance.
Rain battered the windows and wind rushed down the chimney breast.
“Do you think I danced too purposefully?” Cass asked as she lay on her bed exhausted drinking chamomile tea.
“Perhaps a wee bit, my dear. Are you new to this?”
Cass nodded.
“Perhaps a bit more practice before you give it another go,” the PM said. “I think we might be giving the climate change activists something to shout about.”
“Hopefully that distract from the tax rises,” said the Home Secretary.
The King had been demoted for months. But he was still ruminating over the reports, sitting in the one room filled with bookshelves that he was allowed in. The future of good harvest was diminished with the long draught. As the summer came, he faced a new threat: bushfires.
He traced the red lines on the map, the boundaries of the forest.
He had gathered his smartest scholars and tradesmen. Brainstormed countless designs for water dams.
The young King was very progressive for his time, until his ministers betrayed him for one stupid reason.
Rain! The people needed rain, the dance before the king would have to wait. She could feel the earth’s longing and sense the imperious sky god’s reluctance. One last veil to sacrifice, the final piece he coveted to complete his rainbow. Born to dance for gods and kings, neither could resist her charms; she always knew their deepest desires. The heavens had gifted her the dance and hell had bidden her to ask. Tomorrow she would dance with fresh new veils before a new master and when the seventh veil fell, Salome would wrest from the king his very soul.
We didn't have much growing up. That summer was sweltering hot. We could not afford air conditioning, nor a trip to the ocean, nor a pool.
When my father heard the rumble of thunder, he knew a great rain storm was brewing. Soon, it was raining cats and dogs. Like the Pied Piper of Nimbus, he led us into the blessed coolness. We tumbled out the door like clumsy puppies, dashing about, puddle stomping, letting the deluge soak us to the skin.
We didn't have much, but we knew how to have fun. I will always remember that glorious raindance.
Currently in the throes of Storm Darragh here in Yorkshire, so partially influenced by my brief outdoor activities this evening 😅
Rain dance
The storm refused to back down. It had stubbornly raged all day. It hurled gusts of wind against the fence, making it rattle like an unsettled, malevolent spirit. My hood struggled to stay up, offering only partial protection from the torrential downpour as I frantically checked that the trampoline was still securely anchored to the ground. Dragging the BBQ further under cover, I couldn't help but wonder if the farmer I'd spotted three days ago, throwing odd shapes with his body in the field behind the house, had been a little too vigorous with his rain dance.
It had not been a good day. My umbrella blew inside out in the wind, and I was soaked to the skin by the time I got home.
I lit a candle, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat down to a dinner of leftovers in front of the television. The news: a parade of horrors, as usual. I clicked aimlessly through the endless channels.
Like magic, a handsome prince appeared: cheerful, humorous, impossibly graceful. Singing and whistling a long-forgotten tune. Gene Kelly, forever young, forever happy on a city street in a Hollywood dreamworld, doing his glorious raindance.
The warm raindrops fell gently, as they parted their lips in desperate hunger. Worlds collided, spinning amorous tales so quickly that they both saw their future together within seconds.
He, a prize winning chef who filled their lives with laughter and food while she adored him to life’s fullest. Their children were award winning adorable kids.
She, who saw herself working steadily to meet the goals she had set for herself, having a loving and adorable man with no kids.
The first words he spoke broke her illusion of a life together in many small pieces.
He signed his name in full, Eugene Curran Kelly, because he had a feeling. You don’t turn down Metro Goldwyn Mayer, no Sir. But, anyway, this was the movie he’d be remembered for. His polished brogues tapped under the desk, pent up energy buzzing through his lithe dancer’s legs. They left the imposing building as the heavens opened. His agent offered to share a cab but Gene needed air. Walk a block, left, and cut through. He froze mid-step, transfixed by a young man who laughed at the rain as he pirouetted on a lamppost. Brogues tapping, an idea formed.
97mg of a raindance [correction, it's 98 - I missed out a word. Oops.]
Well, it's a marvellous night for a raindance... said the lycanthrope, not realising this rain had been seeded from clouds with silver nitrate.
Planet Gaia had a long-suffering lycanthrope problem, you see, until a mysterious cabal starting indulging in chemtrails and messing with the H2O cycle. Most conspiracy theorists thought it was some entirely different scheme.
But no, it was all because of the lycanthropes.
As for the cabal, well, it kinda goes without saying they were never seen in broad daylight.
Or eating garlic, for that matter.
I hear they're gonna try blocking out the sun soon.
PROMPT: RAINDANCE
THE RAIN
They’d been dancing around for an hour, praying for rain.
Begging it to show itself.
It’d been their last hope.
But all the sky had to offer was blazing hot sun, beating down on them from above.
While they were still lost in the desert, without water.
Only now, they’d used up most of their energy and could barely move… 😎
The rain has been pouring the entire day, but on the kitchen roof one most contrary cat prances. She refuses to seek shelter.
Back and forth she scampers, staring blithely through the skylight. Oblivious. Defiant. Her coat is a raincoat. My legs are the towel as she swishes around them.
The kitchen worktops, dining table, office desk and laptop lid show the muddy steps of her rain dance.
That one left me somewhat breathless
Rain battered the windows and wind rushed down the chimney breast.
“Do you think I danced too purposefully?” Cass asked as she lay on her bed exhausted drinking chamomile tea.
“Perhaps a wee bit, my dear. Are you new to this?”
Cass nodded.
“Perhaps a bit more practice before you give it another go,” the PM said. “I think we might be giving the climate change activists something to shout about.”
“Hopefully that distract from the tax rises,” said the Home Secretary.
“We can always hope,” said the PM.
Microdosing - 100mg of a Raindance
===
The King had been demoted for months. But he was still ruminating over the reports, sitting in the one room filled with bookshelves that he was allowed in. The future of good harvest was diminished with the long draught. As the summer came, he faced a new threat: bushfires.
He traced the red lines on the map, the boundaries of the forest.
He had gathered his smartest scholars and tradesmen. Brainstormed countless designs for water dams.
The young King was very progressive for his time, until his ministers betrayed him for one stupid reason.
He refused to hold a raindance.
Thanks again, Miguel, for putting these together and hosting! 🥰
Thanks for being here with me :)
Rain! The people needed rain, the dance before the king would have to wait. She could feel the earth’s longing and sense the imperious sky god’s reluctance. One last veil to sacrifice, the final piece he coveted to complete his rainbow. Born to dance for gods and kings, neither could resist her charms; she always knew their deepest desires. The heavens had gifted her the dance and hell had bidden her to ask. Tomorrow she would dance with fresh new veils before a new master and when the seventh veil fell, Salome would wrest from the king his very soul.
(Follow on from yesterday’s prompt.)
Shane slips in the wet snow and drops his shovel. “Woh, shit.”
“Careful,” his dad warns as he steps out into the cold. “Remember when your mother took you to the emergency room in that blizzard?”
Shane remembers. His mother was in that same emergency room only a few days later, and none of them had laughed much since.
“Well what’re you doin’ now?” Dad asks.
“A rain dance,” Shane tells him. “Don’t wanna shovel.”
Dad snickers at him, and then slips and stumbles back into the house.
Shane cries when he hears his mom belly laughing in the mudroom.
We didn't have much growing up. That summer was sweltering hot. We could not afford air conditioning, nor a trip to the ocean, nor a pool.
When my father heard the rumble of thunder, he knew a great rain storm was brewing. Soon, it was raining cats and dogs. Like the Pied Piper of Nimbus, he led us into the blessed coolness. We tumbled out the door like clumsy puppies, dashing about, puddle stomping, letting the deluge soak us to the skin.
We didn't have much, but we knew how to have fun. I will always remember that glorious raindance.
Sad event, but good memories.
Currently in the throes of Storm Darragh here in Yorkshire, so partially influenced by my brief outdoor activities this evening 😅
Rain dance
The storm refused to back down. It had stubbornly raged all day. It hurled gusts of wind against the fence, making it rattle like an unsettled, malevolent spirit. My hood struggled to stay up, offering only partial protection from the torrential downpour as I frantically checked that the trampoline was still securely anchored to the ground. Dragging the BBQ further under cover, I couldn't help but wonder if the farmer I'd spotted three days ago, throwing odd shapes with his body in the field behind the house, had been a little too vigorous with his rain dance.
I heard about that - the Donkey Sanctuary had to cancel their "Carols by Candlelight" event (I'm on their mailing list). 🐴
RAINDANCE (100)
It had not been a good day. My umbrella blew inside out in the wind, and I was soaked to the skin by the time I got home.
I lit a candle, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat down to a dinner of leftovers in front of the television. The news: a parade of horrors, as usual. I clicked aimlessly through the endless channels.
Like magic, a handsome prince appeared: cheerful, humorous, impossibly graceful. Singing and whistling a long-forgotten tune. Gene Kelly, forever young, forever happy on a city street in a Hollywood dreamworld, doing his glorious raindance.
Snap! The inestimable Eugene Curran Kelly tripping the light fabtastic.
The horizon was lit up with a brilliant orange hue, and Gavins tears fell like raindrops on the side of the road.
He stood there under the brilliance of the sky, until his phone rang. “
Gavin hesitated, “Hello?”
“I’m sorry to inform you, but your mother has passed this morning.” The doctor said.
Gavin hung up, drove off into the sunrise without looking back. One last look at his mothers picture in his mirror.
Then, a crash plummeted the earth.
Raindance
The warm raindrops fell gently, as they parted their lips in desperate hunger. Worlds collided, spinning amorous tales so quickly that they both saw their future together within seconds.
He, a prize winning chef who filled their lives with laughter and food while she adored him to life’s fullest. Their children were award winning adorable kids.
She, who saw herself working steadily to meet the goals she had set for herself, having a loving and adorable man with no kids.
The first words he spoke broke her illusion of a life together in many small pieces.
“My place or yours?”
Oh, this is great, nice twist -- "The first words he spoke broke her illusion of a life together in many small pieces."
Irresistible!
Dancing in the Rain
He signed his name in full, Eugene Curran Kelly, because he had a feeling. You don’t turn down Metro Goldwyn Mayer, no Sir. But, anyway, this was the movie he’d be remembered for. His polished brogues tapped under the desk, pent up energy buzzing through his lithe dancer’s legs. They left the imposing building as the heavens opened. His agent offered to share a cab but Gene needed air. Walk a block, left, and cut through. He froze mid-step, transfixed by a young man who laughed at the rain as he pirouetted on a lamppost. Brogues tapping, an idea formed.
I can't believe we both thought of Gene Kelly! Actually, I can -- who ever danced better in the rain?
Great minds!
97mg of a raindance [correction, it's 98 - I missed out a word. Oops.]
Well, it's a marvellous night for a raindance... said the lycanthrope, not realising this rain had been seeded from clouds with silver nitrate.
Planet Gaia had a long-suffering lycanthrope problem, you see, until a mysterious cabal starting indulging in chemtrails and messing with the H2O cycle. Most conspiracy theorists thought it was some entirely different scheme.
But no, it was all because of the lycanthropes.
As for the cabal, well, it kinda goes without saying they were never seen in broad daylight.
Or eating garlic, for that matter.
I hear they're gonna try blocking out the sun soon.