The day steams

like an unattended  cooker,

with warm mist

held suspended,

rising,

sweating,

and dripping

in the golden baking sun.

 

The humid, tight air

surrounds and

embraces with

its stifling clutch

that clings

like wet clothes

after the drench

of a summer storm.

 

Then, as if gathering

and distilling

this hidden mist,

the clouds form

like a black sponge,

high up but close,

ready to deliver

their load

with a flash and a crack

in the mirky

tropical air.

 

Drops as large

as splattered eggs

plop and bounce,

and build and increase,

falling like dead birds

in the turgid expanse of air,

till the flood

of release

from the mystery of darkness

gives way

across the waiting land.

 

31/10/2015