Sunrest

Sun has chased moon, East to West, past the poles. While warring thermals, cause thunder to roll. Evening breeze smells of salt, from a dry lake bed. Sky shimmers aquamarine, tinged in streaks of red. Rugged peaks, wind tortured, stand in stark relief. As last rays of sun, slip away, like a thief. Long, shadows grow, upon ground, ancient dust. Caressing, one last time, this land with gentle touch. For the contest: A Poesy any theme Sponsored by Brian Strand Placement: 1st