Clouds
are few
in arid
Arizona.
They are harbingers
of the monsoon seasons.
In winter, tiny fleecy
puffs pop across an azure sky
and gather til, wind driven, they slip
into silver strands shadowing the sun.
Gloomy grays join brooding blacks, dirty balls
of fleece. Ozone fills the air, booming
thunder echoes lightning flashes.
Like rushing falls, sheets of rain
flood washes, fill rivers.
Over night grass grows
to feed creatures
living there
on sand
dunes.
But
summer
clouds gather
to drizzle mists,
drops that bless the seeds
hidden in the sand. Then
vivid hued patchwork flowers,
red poppies, white daisies, purple
lantana, glow til the rains move on.
We then can ponder God's glory in clouds.
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