Nothing is ever Nothing

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Clouds, 

Each one wrought of that which is deemed inconsequential.

Until the storm breaks.

Until rain leaks to soak the brittle sun parched land.

All but unnoticed, except by the dying light of day.

Or the briefly unbiased eyes of mornings cue.

As dove grey shadows soft enfold.

Shield.

Silhouette.

Shelter me.

The embracing coo of something more than can be seen.

A lullaby whispered.

But always threat.

Always raw.

This woman knew.

Knows.

Yet here I am.

Praying for rain.

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