DUST STORM Hanging in the air A cataract of dust. Waiting. Hanging. And waiting forever.

Creeping in from the desert A gift of erosion Given centuries ago. Hot. Dry. And still. Waiting. Shhh. A slight gust! It moves In cyllindrical patterns. Incisions of vision Punctuate the clouds As they swirl Between hot wind And rising soil. Leaves get in the way Creating shifting debris Across a murky landscape. Then Clouds of billowing dust With mounting momentum Blow into every hairline crack. Grit between the teeth And barely a blink without irritation. The smell precedes Relief. Rain. Fallen fresh on mud. Large drops at first Then smaller and faster Washing down the haze. Suddenly The brown curtain has gone! Just then A splash from a puddle Brings back stark reality with a start.