Rain falls hard on the canopy of broad catalpa trees. Their broad leaves make hallow sounds as great drops hit them. They are like green umbrellas, but individually useless for stopping the rain. The huge drops propel through them by bending them back at their cord-like stems. The white blooms of the trees fill with water, becoming clusters of drenched paper cups suspended in the air.
Drops fall through and hit the grey raincoat worn by the man below. He reaches down to pick up a fresh branch that has fallen onto the path. His hands press against the soft bark of the branch, turned to cork by hours of incessant rainfall. The branch drips furiously as it is awakened by the strength of his arm. The man tosses it to the side. The branch’s green leaves still seem vivid and full of life, as if he could have simply tossed it back up into the tree canopy and it would have regained life.
The branch makes a soft thud against the mud. The emerald leaves are violently spotted with mud and the ground kisses it.

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