Rain, Down the Drain, Jussayin’…

I’m singin’ in the rain, but raindrops keep fallin’ on me head.

Perchance its empathy for an increasingly anxious puppy, perched on his windowsill, unwilling to brave the storm even as the big business builds up from this morning’s bowl.

Could be its the excess macca-smoothie-energy, the art production frenzy, or the spring cleaning much too soon for Punxsutawney Phil’s prediction.

Mayhaps, the soft pattering, the gusting howling of mother nature’s song, as dry banks flood to play along.

However the rhyme, whichever the reason… some drought we’re having!

Its a bittersweet feeling– thankful for the roof over my head, and the panda bear to snuggle warm and fuzzy in my bed… but still, it comes over me, this sense of dread.

There’s a chill to this winter that can’t be all in my head.

When George R.R. Martin says “Winter is Here” I am filled with giddy butterflies awaiting the fate of angst-ridden fan-fic-fans world-wide as they come to realize that their hero is no hero.

But as the solstice ushered in this reporter’s twenty-third year of life in human form, the last leaves of autumn fell… and we seemingly expected it all to end there.

Alas, its over a week into 2017, and the world hasn’t ended yet. Some thank their Nightly Stars, while others…

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Illustration by WildEr

BRAKING NEWS headlines the front page, by-lined to somebody that knows a lot about the subject, your go to source on new developments in speed reduction. You come to a screeching halt.

Another two cents down the drain… but you must know: what about that THING that we have?

As you scrounge in your pocket to pay the dispenser– picking out the lint and the Cheetos dust to tuck safely back in your belly button– a gust of wind blows a wadded up ball of newsprint smack into your face.

~~~uurmph! You fall back, flat on your patootie, pennies flying like hail to a stripper’s donkey. They land with a cling and a splash in the clogged up gutters of your mind.

You can just make out the header: THE DAILY STAR

Intrigued, and moderately dizzied, you delve into the genius wordcraft of reporter Zu-Zu Lee with the scoop of the day.

Your two cents still remain, fighting back the current of social media sewage.

In the distance, clouds part, a beam of light shines through illuminating the comments section below, a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow–

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Nightly Stars

As children, they tell us stories of the things that go bump in the night, predators hunting in the hour of the wolf, monsters stalking the shadows– terrifying tales to tremble our toes tucked safely under our blankets.

Safe in those beds, we dare not, nor care not, to venture out into the dark abyss, into the soft glow of the moon, or the twinkling light of our nightly stars.

As sure as Yin, there is Yang, our beacons in the eventide, masked in midnight mystery. We fear the dark, we shiver at the cold (brr!) so we flock to the warm light of the sun… but our stars watch over us nevertheless, like the great Lion Kings of the past.

Zu-Zu Lee: masked vigilante, creature of the night, and her fluffy companion Udûn: keeper of the dark fire– we are but ghosts in this haunting hour.

This time, this is the stuff dreams are made of.