Fruits Of The Phoenix (@FruitsOfThePhoenix)

The morning sun came loosely and cold the sky pasted with orid greys sandy stones and folding torrents of turbulent clouds sang its escape as from that cold heat spread and filled each all and every porous entrapment. Like a radiator fills all oscillating minors and majors enveloped beat and danced until even chests upon ground could shout, "Are , We , Next?""