The Yellowing

A breath of respite in a spring storm

At dusk, an otherworldy glow broke through the yellowing light.

A burst of rain had just passed through — a stacatto pulse of pounding drops, accompanied by the rumbling of the gods.

But now, a patch of sky, bluer than a robin’s egg, peered down through the billow of drifting clouds.

The azaleas, just recently bloomed, began to flouresce in the strange light, their candy-stripe faces seeming to be lit from within somehow.

An indigo bloom washed across the sky, like icing on a birthday cake, layered and frothy.

A heavy stillness wrapped me in her shroud. It seemed as if time had skipped a beat.

And then, before the sun could even break completely free of the grip of the storm, the sky again gave way to big, heavy tears, which turned to hail.

And reality shifted, time returning to now.

I believe that to truly understand a poem, it needs to be heard. To hear the rhythm, the cadence, the emphasis, please listen to my recording of “The Yellowing.”

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Erika Burkhalter is a yogi, cat-mom, photographer, and lover of travel and nature, spreading her love and amazement for Mother Earth’s glories, one photo, poem or story at a time. (MS Neuropsychology, MA Yoga Studies).

Poem and photos ©Erika Burkhalter. All rights reserved.