A storm came in while I checked the lambs.
The western sky filled with great gray clouds,
tall and dense.
A lone bee buzzed his industrious tune against the distant thunder,
One last load.
The ridge was still bright and hot as I walked down towards the lambs,
towards the storm.
Sun shone through the gaps, outlined the sculpture of the clouds.
No carved and painted ceiling comes close.
I sent my dog to gather, silent she vanished over the wall into the
brush,
Nothing but the flies and thunder and heat.
I wait then hear the cadence of the flock coming, bleats from
stragglers,
past the wall.
They are fine, vibrant, annoyed at the interruption.
We let them go.
My dog and I walk back up the ridge, storm behind and heat before us.
I hear the rain.
The drops advance behind me like a tiny running army,
thousands of footsteps swarming up the hill
I reach the top as the first drops find me,
cooling the air and my skin.
© Maria Amodei 2015
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