When clouds build as the day grow long and the morning sky of blue is gone, glass bottom clouds turned darkest gray top-most silver peaks have fade away and hiding where the sun can’t play
When the last of silver pinnacles have sheltered from the sun when breeze moves in and distant groans begun. It’s time to turn and face the evaporating blow and tastes the essence of every life and plant that grow Each and every sense dissolved into a single aromatic show.
Now is time to taste and savor every creature, outcrop, trees and all embrace the plants and shrubs exploding at the approaching fall and always room to track and follow as rain clouds weave toward in space as open as the sky . . The wettest raindrops in the world.
I wrote this poem several years ago when the earliest forewarning of the incoming storm cut the power off . . I sat dry under the Veranda of The Kalkadoon Hotel and penciled my thought on some paper.