Poetry

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A white cloud
Appears on the once
Clear blue afternoon sky
Like a careless splodge of white
On the blue canvas of an artist
It bubbles up
Then races across the blue
Another appears bigger this time
Then another and another
And as they move across the sky
They cast their shadows across the land
Patches of light and dark
Appear to move over the landscape
Like a giant kaleidoscope
One of the sunny patches
Illuminates the weeping cherry
Where the gold finches sing
Then there is more cloud than sky
The small white clouds
Have now bubbled up and darkened
And from the lake the Geese speak
To no one in particular
Saying that a storm is coming
In the distance the mountains
Stand out starkly
Against the ever darkening sky
The first sounds of thunder
Roll around the valley
Sounding like a distant train
Getting nearer and louder
Silent lightning streaks
Across the blackening clouds
Then a thunder clap
Not to be mistaken for a distant train
Large raindrops hit the ground
Dappling the dry earth
Strumming on the roof tops
And the tops of parked cars
In a reassuring rhythm
And as the last dry spot disappeared
The torrent began
Falling vertically like monsoon rains
Lightning streaks dazzled the eyes
And almost instant thunder shook the house
The waters of the lake
Erupted like a pot coming to the boil
And day was turned to night
Slowly the rain eased
And the storm rolled on
Blue coloured the skies again
The Geese spoke again from the lake
Gold finches sang once more
And the air was filled with the scent of wet pines

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