Haboob

Try as I might, I can’t hold the rain and keep it here on this scorched earth.

Thick humidity is leveled, finally, by a cooler breeze than we have felt in months.

Billowing clouds hide the angry sun .  It is a landscape I hardly recognize.

The feel of rain in the air is languid, loopy.

Luxurious against crisp mountains, spiny-things and lizard mouths taste the air.

Longing to lay in bed all day with only the open window.

To watch the clouds marching across the sky in thick formation.

My mood is flecked in ions, and caverns that have long been dry teem with tears.

I smell rain in my hair, in my dog’s paws, in the soup I’m making in my mind.

I am emptier than usual, and I will fill it up with rainwater and insect parts.

My eyes the color of the rain, the clouds, the land renewed.

If only for today.

 

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