Blessed Monsoon

The calm before the storm,

It's what they warn me about,

The storm is what I crave,

A reprieve from this sweltering reality.

These days grow long,

And as the sun gains height in it's sky,

It shines hot and loud on my imperfections,

Heavy air gives no promise of relief,

And I am weary.

Clouds gather in the distance causing a rise in atmospheric pressure,

It wakes me from a restless nap,

My arthritic skeleton bows under the invisible weight,

The cigarette I light is almost painful in the heavy heat.

Across the valley I see my maker's latest work,

Watercolor on his favorite canvas- desert sky,

I enviously anticipate a taste of that masterpiece,

A few moments of the kind of shower that can wash away pain and sin.

The air goes from heavy to still as the afternoon quickly darkens,

It is a peaceful blanket and soothing in every way,

A compassionate breeze delivers strange electricity,

The raw beauty of dangerous lightening flash across the darkness,

Illuminates a captivating contrast on the ever changing canvas,

This artwork comes with sound,

Each flash causes a majestic thunderous roar.

The climax of the storm,

This is what I've waited for,

Suddenly cool showers of water fall on and all around me,

Quenching everything I love,

The smell of wet desert is a sweet rare thing,

I stand in it and smile because I made it through the pain another day.