Another storm warning.
Cotton clouds turn into coal smoke,
Flashes splice the sky.
We’re drenched by pelting rain,
until it blows by again.
Wouldn’t it be nice
if the newscaster flashed
storm warnings
about flashes of temper
and drenching tears,
so we knew to stay indoors
or prepare our rain gear?
We’re raining
damp permeates bones
sky slides claustrophobically close
Grey day
Listen to the rain
clicking against the windows
thudding on the roof
washing away whatever was waiting
yesterday, and cleaning for tomorrow.
The mist in the hills
weighs heavily on my heart
The wind through the valley
blows bleakly on my brain
The rain from the grey
drips doggedly on my dreams.
.
.
.
It’s only Wed, but I am exhausted! I’m sure this soggy weather isn’t helping
All evening
the hills have been
illuminated by a
laser light show,
and now
the skies are
streaming;
white mist
hides the hills,
enfolding us
as the heavens
flash and crash
above.
It’s misty in the hills
Rain falls in spatters on the windshield
How can there be a Christmas Craft Fair
when there is no snow?
The day is grey:
the sky washes the earth.
Dogs curled in tight balls of fur
are not tempted to inspect the outdoors.
We light the fireplace,
watch water streaming down the windows,
we dream of spring
as autumn taunts.
