Clouds, dark blue and purple,
move swiftly across the plain.
Dry sandy dirt, sage brush,
mountains in the distance.
Rain starts and comes hard,
and little river’s form quickly.
Ripples interrupting ripples,
in the short lived water bodies.
The ground soaks it all inside,
quenching an undying thirst,
months since it was wet.
Briefly, the world brightens,
as lighting crosses the sky,
and thunder echoes around.
At last, the storm has come.
Poetry