Poetry
The Sudden Fury of a Desert Storm
Shouldn’t we stand in grateful awe of such rare moments?
Big raindrops in frenzied bursts hit the hot dry desert ground and a layer of dust charges up in a hasty welcome embrace only to be pounded back to the land by a deluge driven by the stormy wind, the frightened earth gasps; its lips laid slightly open in long nursed desire for the assuaging baptism. You feel her heave then exhale as the torrents muffle the moans for some minutes then cease and they lapse into silence of exhaustion of pent up passions drained from overwrought veins and the engaging parties relieved of that burning pressure as they retreat — freed to build up again for a future bout of reinvigoration blasts and cue to sprouts.
And water flows carving paths into holes and crevices, with worms, ants, and flies calling for a census of survivors in guarded celebratory howls — the leaves of the sparse throng of shrubs and stunted trees smirk of the joy, humans miss with loss of awe for nature’s parades in glory and grandeur that should evoke gratitude for the life that’s been freely given, even to the undeserving.
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