Between the Clouds

.

Even in the storm

we dance –

on parched toes

we leap and twirl

our thirsty land

beneath the tumble

of a sky

that holds its breath . . .

then exhales inabluster.

Whirling through

the rising roar,

we raise our eyes

to slanted rain

then gambol high

across the hills

into the wind

above the trees

to thank the bow

that arcs

between the clouds.

.

(c) 2000, 2016  Betty Hayes Albright

.

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