L'aura del Campo

Antidote [110] (20 lines)

For: "The Not-So-Daily Poem"  July 1: petrichor.

Antidote

The ground thirsts in the silence
as mud dries to dirt, turns to dust
and leaves fall, too weak to hold on
and we look with weary eyes at clouds

that bring nothing but far off thunder,
promises never kept, a fearsome taunt
that threatens fires or powerful gusts
lifting debris as we flee and cough

until that moment when leaden skies
have had enough, and overflowing,
dump its despair over all of us
turning dusty fields into a flood

of mud that releases its pent up
anger and angst in bursts of perfume
that welcome us to dance in puddles
and inhale the antidote of death.

Petrichor! Before we knew your name,
we knew that rain delighted worms and bugs,
the birds, the flowers, the trees, and us
with your aroma of renewal.

© Kåre Enga [177.110] (1.juli.2020)