At last, at last, at last,
the thunder came,
and the wind, and the rain.
Summer turned to twilight,
and in a flash the world burned.
The drought withered
and hid under branches
until the flood devoured it,
and I could breathe the air again,
rinsed of its dust and particulate.
The day turned into holiday.
The listlessness of the arid atmosphere
vanished in a burst of wet kisses.
Life restored itself.
Sound lost its tinny voice
and turned into a melody of life.
I am a creature of weather.
My sails fall on airless days.
My heart broods under overcast.
I shrivel in the cold.
I have no philosophy that revives me
more than sun,
white billowy clouds,
morning’s hands on my cheeks,
like a mother
holding her child’s face and saying,
you are beautiful,
I love you,
everything will be all right,
little weather soul,
sailor,
fair weather angel.
Then,
the drought that discouraged me
is gone with the wind,
at last.