Cloudbusting

[ninthwaver@aol.com (NinthWaver)]

Here in Los Angeles, I stand atop the Hollywood Hills and laugh at the
sun. Soon, the westerly breeze blows up from the beach, gathers force to
batter the palm trees, which sway as if in a madman's dance. The sky
darkens, the earth quiets, even the traffic has stopped. Agents and
actors, hookers and con-artists, the homeless, the hopeless and the
betrayed watch as a silver rain begins to fall. The filthy streets run
with the blood of the stars, life begins on Jupiter, ancient stones cast
shadow-faces on Mars. Anything is possible in this Dreamworld. All it
takes is a wish above the haze, a whistle to the wind, a vision held tight
like a child to your breast. Even in La-La-Land, the Incarnation of the
Sybil reaches down in the soul. We are not heartless. We are the Devoted.
For the other side of the sun is a glittering storm that rises over
America (and is seen in Celtic lands by The Lady).