Rainless Dreams

Wee tree peoples, mute yet gleeful, grind miniscule hurdy-gurdies,
playing tunes inaudible to normal human ears. Their flashing toothy
grins are beautiful unto themselves; yet would blind and stupefy
giants like us.

Practical jokes are their game of choice, and though they mean
no harm, one should pity the unsuspecting, who on a winters
day chancily passes beneath their branches. For these creatures
will quiver with joy as they tip cupped leaves filled with rancid acid
rain, dumping its contents onto that poor passerby's head.

Now you may say this mischievous act sounds innocent enough;
but the receiver of such tonic will have nightmares till their dying day
of rainless skies eternal, which hover above a parched and treeless
earth, devoid of all peoples, including those minute whose only
wish was to extend playful offerings.

So as we look toward winter, it is wise to dig through musty closets
and find our long lost umbrellas, just to keep them handy in hopes
that they will still be necessary.