Renegadetourist

Fuguo road, 6:11 pm.

In Poetic prose, Writing on 2016/06/28 at 10:57

Big drops are falling from a leaden sky, pitter patterning against the visor of my helmet. The low clouds have made the backstreets of my even commute even more dull than normal,  nothing but wet asphalt and grey buildings all the way. I mount the steep slope of the bridge across the highway, and just as I reach the crest, the world opens up in front of me. In the distance, visible only because the rain has cleared away the smog of the city, I can see the mountains; layers upon layers of ever darkening shades of green against the backdrop of the sky tainted faintly yellow by the setting sun. It lasts but a moment before the road slopes downward again, bringing me back down below the clouds.

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