It rains, it pours, it speaks, it drips, it glistens the grounds, it listens to the leaves, it leaves marks. Rains shall come heavy in evergreen, winds push, shout heavenly roars. Winds shall come heavy in evergreen, days darken, times run short. Short days shall come back in evergreen, lights set up, the season of “giving” sets down, the increase in consumerism arches back. The holidays shall come back in evergreen, but snow? It’ll come eventually, but rain? It shall. Water drips like small pearls, pearls of her eyes as she windowshops on the busy rainy street, drips on a homeless man on the street, notice how it flows like a river near him. The rain gives a gift to his eyes. The man broken by them receives the small gift. The water pitter patters on a window, with a man painting the dead soul of his blue day, eating a candy cane, a brush conducting the colors of a watercolor orchestra. The brush sways side to side, creating almost dreamlike scenery, rain creates the orchestral sound, the painting moves dreamlike with its trees, nature’s delicate calling. Its rays that show but hide, rivers move as if they were real; the rain’s methodical sound could bring such a painting to life. Rain pours itself on the leaves, the leaves drip and fall like autumn on the white path, the leaves blow with the rain as it goes through lively trees, dead trees, masses fall through mountains, forests painted with a delicate purple sky. The rain dripped on the painting. It was a tear. He nailed it, the rain gives a gift — clarity. Her tear dropped, let her tears pour on the man, give him clarity, give him solace, and give him the pearl? The pearl from the girl who returns with a tear and a smile. 

Let there be clarity… Let there be solace… Let there be happiness… 

A pearl of treats, a glistened pearl from the rain she brought, the pearls of her eyes. Let the painting be called Pearl.