In the distance I see them,
Dark billows unfurling
A canopy of grey across the horizon,
Forcing the sun into seclusion.
The rain is coming.

In cadenced formation they advance,
Nimbus clouds on the march,
Curtains of gossamer white hanging
In their trail. The rain is falling.

The hills sigh with relief,
Refreshed at this sweet aspersion,
Renewed and restored
By the Providence that
Established their foundation.

The rain has stopped.
The clouds roll on to distant lands, impelled by a cycle that will see
no end.

And all the earth lies content
In quiet meditation,
Radiant on a bed of primordial mist.