by Dee Newman
There was a faint rumble – far off
As the summer sun vanished
Behind a billowing cloud,
Shoving its shadow across the commons,
Crawling cautiously over our bodies,
Invading her dreams,
Opening her eyes with a smile.
Suddenly, as a rush of swirling gray
Rolled over the Simpson’s woods,
The trees began to bend in the wind.
The rain came quickly,
Skipping like a child across the meadow
As we ran, reaching out
To greet its coming.