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Poem

It brews

With the first arc of the sunlight
That lifts the sweltering night

It brews

Without a single cloud to offer comfort
The thick still air 
Only grows heavier
A weight you can see on the leaves of the trees
As they fold to the oppression
Hot like a wet tea bag
A solid mass you can feel on your skin
Pressing on lungs   scrounging for oxygen

It brews

Quietly
Patiently

Come afternoon
The mercury   peaks
Clouds out of nowhere 
Swiftly boil over
Liquid silver turns to slate
As a wall of wind slams into the city
With rain pounding in waves
Hailstones thrashing
And lightening bolts flashing
The trees are left praying on their knees

A moment of relief
And then it is gone

The clouds clearing out like a shift change

Sun back on duty
In a matter of minutes the streets are dry
And the air is again steeped

It is as if nothing happened
Save a few fallen trees





Composed for Brenda Chiri's
Describe a thunderstorm without the sense of sound.

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