When clouds build as the day grows long      
and the morning sky of blue is gone,
glass bottom clouds turned the darkest grey
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 the breeze moves in and distant groans begin.
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 savour 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 eight years ago (January 23, 2017),  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 wrote my thoughts on paper.