The first blistering wall of wind and trash to bash
the summer afternoon is welcome, and more than
welcome, more than you who do not know the
Sonoran Desert can conceive. Dead palm tree fronds
and junk break free and hurtle down with ebullient
Thorian abandon and appetite, targeting
scurrying mortals in haphazard roulette, and we
happily essay to dodge these pot-shot
supernal missiles. The lights and power flicker
off and on, off and on. Dirt swirls in sucking vortices
around the wayward cars while traffic lights
thrash madly. Our eyes and nostrils clogged
with grit, we make it home and hear the wild,
felicitous howling wind around the garage door as it,
like a pharaoh's last pyramidal stone, descends,
then hurry to unpack the groceries, these
trifling items of base subsistence ‑‑ for this
(finally!) is the herald of the violent and spectacular
summer monsoon.
The Summer is in the air. What a beautiful description of Seasonal change. The dry and blistering heat, dust particles swirling nauseatingly in the stagnant air and then redemption- the monsoon. There is the sweet air of change. We are still slaves of nature, this seems to imply and we can't/don't deign to do anything about it, happily essaying to dodge these pot-shot supernal missiles. That is so true.
ReplyDeletea true story, although the rain hasn't come yet.
ReplyDeleteMostly I like "while traffic lights thrash madly" but the entire piece is lovely.
ReplyDeletewhy, thanks, c. the violent rain came last night but i, at work, mostly missed it. :(
ReplyDeleteI like the contrast between heat and rain here. There's something so awe-inspiring about the connection between these two weather patterns--the world hushes. :)
ReplyDelete