by brian francis
I sat alone in the rain,
lightening, casting strobe like shadows all around.
The clouds, reaching down and touching upon me,
sending joyous shivers across my being.
Worshiping the storm and receiving its blessings;
awed by the beauty, the strength, the wonder.
Swirling clouds, imitating forms in the sky.
Thunderheads, rising to their flat tops,
before falling, violently, back to earth
in the cold burst, of what are monsoon.
These, the storms of desert evenings,
rise in the afternoons, of summer’s days.
Giving life to all of the desert’s children, in turn.
The saguaro stands majestically, poised on eternity.
Its crown of color open,
worn proudly in the silhouette
of lightning’s flash.
Copyright © 2020 brian francis
Wordsmith: At The Forge 