Walking through fields of alfalfa at twilight


Walking through fields of alfalfa at twilight
here in the high desert plains,
killdeer song surrounds me under
a cloak of cricket serenades.
Deep lilac light clings to the horizon
clouds congregate, in lush wreaths of violet.
The hair on my arms stand on end,
the air is charged with electricity,
heat galvanizing in tension above.
A storm is coming.
I dance in the wet grass to the tempo of thunder,
a cannonade crack ripping the skyline.
The night shade opens up and the gods baptize me in
warm sheets of balmy rain.
Steam rises from sweltering concrete,
the flash of light overhead reflected in black asphalt pools.
Dogs bay, horses race back and forth in their paddocks,
their human-like screams resounding.
And I dance and I stand beneath the dark heavens,
palms raised, filling with water,
drinking in the heavy scent of sage,
tongue extended, tasting the torrent, soaked.
And with every beat of my heart, I know,
in this moment, at this time,
there’s nowhere else on Earth I’d rather be.

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