weather for boots.

a storm is coming
the dry ground gapes below, thirsty
waiting for the thunder
vicious flares across the sky
the cloud approaches
inky blue against fading beige
wind squeals in childish delight
as big tree dances
to the sound of the booming bass drum
shaking the air
as patience grows thin
anticipation builds
she gives way again
silently submissive, with all the weight to bear
standing in empty field
palms outstretched
drowned by nature's cruel dominance
the first tear falls
and the heavens open.