Winds whip about as skies darken
The hot electric words dance in the the thunder
It is a clamor of truths in the textures
Of a shroud of deeper greys veiling
Rays of light, or warmth.
The swirl stirs not only the rustling leaves
A door opens to see the foretold.
And the first few drops of nature
Her love of cleansing drop from the heavens
Washing over and about me
Breathing in the moment and it is refreshing
Rolling over the distances of plain and mountain
This thunder comes into the soul and bone.
The nuance rains, washing the oily voices away.
Alive and free and stepping ito its torrent
An intensity is cleansed of tarnish
To stand amidst this beauty
With its dole of tthe dirty clinging.
And the out the door come the old pair of loves
A subtle softness airs from them
A gaze finds them in the storm
And their hands move to each other
From want will and relex
Hand in hand. . . .
