Written on a dreary day in mid December.
The state of November.
One of the dreadful things about November is this.
A fitting poem for this month.
It’s a short one, but what is more suitable to the first of this month?
In the same vein as yesterday.
It truly is fall now, welp.
I don’t like thunderstorms much, but they inspire.
It is… that particular smell after it rains.
Spanish for “to rain”, so guess the topic.