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.