Rue The Day

The evidence is there, let there be
no mistaking, for this day dawned a
glowering truculence. Clearly, a
malevolent spirit was given a free hand,
entrusted with the measure of the day,
finding it wanting. The face of the sky
and the nascent day began in good enough
humour. The sun's glowing orb in full
residence, that face smiled gently, warm
upon the Earth. The cloistered trees
moved by a gentle breeze sent their
dry leaves to whispering the good news.
Which obviously offended that malign
spirit who with clenched fist unloosed
dark brooding clouds to screen the sun,
then whipped the breeze to a frenzied
whirlwind, auguring ill for the innocent
day to become foul-mooded instead. The
trees sulked and dropped their foliage, the
clouds argued ferociously among their
sullen peers, clashing, thundering
angrily, pelting the land below with
a fusillade, then a torrent of furious tears.
Ill humour, alas, ruled the day. An
decidedly will wind bore the message.