Sunday, June 8, 2014

Mushroom Clouds

Sitting on a roof watching thunderheads grow like mushrooms
And blow away as storm-spores across the mountains that cascade
And range along the entire horizon as if they were a giant, rotting log,
Splintering to  pieces across the landscape, hemming in my city's Sound.

The wind is a constant and annoying relief, chilling the heat of the sun.
Each mushroom cap punctuating the lumpy-rugged mountain-log skyline
Is a storm for someone somewhere else to endure, or to enjoy if they're like me:

Sitting on a roof, enjoying thunderstorms regrettably only from a great distance.

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