It's not the sunshine I miss
but the summer storm
So seductive in its wrath,
so gentle in its caress
of the mountain behind me.
The smell of rain mingling
with earth, so crisp -
so inviting.
The eerie copper gleam of Sun's reflection
on wet pavement:
it is always evening when the rain comes.
I breathe deeply, and more deeply,
drawing in the fresh moist air,
perhaps one last raindrop
dancing on my face.
The storm is over but I linger on
in the arms of fading thunder
while a cool breeze bathes me
as if I were its child.