The tales of the wind spin wildly, a bureaucrat at sea. Paper shuffled, sails full — irony incarnate.
In the storm's eye, a council met. Silence was golden, yet out of pocket, like a cat to its shoelaces.
.--. --- .--. .-.. .-.. . / --. --- .-. .- ..- / .- ..- - .... --- .-. .. - -.--
Would the cloud billow? One wonders if taxes apply to such follies. Each drop a dollar. Government-dripped precipitation.