The High Sky

On a brisk walk under November skies

The weather cold dark and grey

How would one ever know

That one thousand pounds of weed

Was falling my way

One foot ahead of the other

Walking in a winter fashion

Passing others waving

Making no point to be an attraction

Snow gave way to firm concrete underneath

A light chatter of crackling snow and ice

Under my feet

I glance at the horizon

Just up enough to see

That a dark black object

Hurtling toward the earth

And me

I quicken my pace to a jog and clear the way

I now know something is falling

Falling right towards my direction

As it nears the ground

50 feet or so

I notice it is about 8 bags of so

They fall to the ground as haystacks tossed

I begin my decent to discover the fallen goods

There is no way that I could have truly understood

Here is 100 lbs of weed fallen from the sky above

Heavenly dank sent from the angels with love

Upon that day I reached a new level high

With the gifts I received

That fell from the sky


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