The Cusp of Rain

Places where it never stops raining and

Places where it never starts

Miss out on the slow preparation, the build towards

The inevitable downpour.

It’s a taste on the tongue, on the air,

Thick and earthy, with an undercurrent of ozone.

It is a heaviness against the skin.

It is the way the birds startle upwards and flee into the branches.

It is a yielding sigh of a breeze, tracing moisture across cheeks and hands,

Prelude to the heavier bath.

That balance can sit and build and wait.

It is more teasing, more subtle than the profane glory of the storm

And almost as subtle as the aftermath.

Almost as subtle as the delicate lacing left

On the nasturtiums in the gravel.

IMG_0179The hands of life and destruction can be as delicate as they are overwhelming

Both the subtle and the non-subtle aspects of nature fascinate me.


For more and less subtle preludes, my fantasy novel, The Guests of Honor, is available here. Its sequel, With Honor Intact, can be found here.

 

 

Later,

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