A whoosh of wind,
Icy, fresh;
Blows away the blind
And washes my face.
A smell of soil,
Earthy, soft,
Wafts into my nostril
And makes me glide aloft.
I go out on a high
And behold the sight.
Thunder rumbles in the sky,
And plays sound and light.
A drizzle falls in streaks,
I hear its strain.
Nobly, gracefully,
Here comes the rain!
Trickles of Tales 