Lingering rain droplets replaced the morning dew. The summer breeze enticed Angels’ tear drops to roll off the maple trees leaves. An acorn falls onto his shoulder, and he quickly turns about to see who threw it. There was no one there. He was alone again.
He’d seen many storms and had come through several of his own. He was no longer afraid. He knew that his walk was a lonely one. His path was his own. His perils were only temporary. The storm had passed. All that was left were the drying leaves and the moist grass between his toes.
He was refreshed…
