Shades of cloud
Shadows of wet
Grey and white
With hushed tones of
Silver and pink and brown
Race
Transforming
Above me
Where air must be blowing
With certainty
To the South
Of all things (I thought the rain was coming from the Southwest.).
Layers of mystery
Blessing us with mist
Uncertain rain
Still giving life to summer growth.
And the strange, newly arrived
Brown wasps huddle
In the crotches of the live oak
With glossy black wings
Wrapped like coats
Against the cool August breeze.
The quiet whispers of life and even frost
Of death and the harvest of abundance
All in a single wisp of atmospheric breath.