Common Core High School ELA Question of the Day

The gutters quiet, and I step into the alley where the bricks drink the last of the storm. My sleeves are damp; a bead runs from my wrist to my palm and falls, a small echo. The air tastes like iron and leaf. Somewhere a bus hisses, then the city holds its breath. In the window, a fern lifts, rinsed and stubbornly green. I don't say the word hope, but I let it ride the steam from the street as I walk home, soles whispering on the wet.

After it rains, you should remember to respect nature. Please imagine how puddles symbolize our choices and try to feel the lesson in your heart. It's crucial to learn from storms so we can improve ourselves.

After rain: streets, mirrors, lungs, glass. I is you is we. Drip. Skip syntax; break the frame; erase the plot; a fern is a city is a law. Meaning pours until it doesn't. Cut. Fade.

The rain is a choir of sapphires embroidering the sable veil of urbanity, threading auroral resonances through the interstices of quotidian architectures until the metaphysical hush burgeons into chrysalis light.