Storm clouds leave fresh redolent fragrances
as I step from a shelter of dripping leaves,
the hot breathless air of summer removed
after the sizzle of days sinking sun
and a sudden drumming downpour.
How quickly it dark-mottled
the red dust on the sun-baked ground.
the cracked earth swiftly darkened –
softened and exhaled –
a breath ferment with the smell of clay,
damp bark and leaf-rot loam.
Gathering my fishing pole and cooler
and wending my way toward home
I breathed deeply, intoxicated by
the sighing moist breath of autumn.
© 2017, Cheryl Koomoa. All rights reserved.