When the Drought's About To End

The thunder rolls in the distance, booming, deep, a foreboding warning of what's to come,

Tiny droplets on parched asphalt, the steamy smell of relief wafts up my nose, a burning sting that oddly delights

I feel the dampness on my skin, heavy and thick. A slow, impatient weight, laden with expectation, as the brown grass crunches under my toes

It tastes like morning dew, but hotter, and gently charred by nature's nasty tricks,

But the sky! Pink cotton candy, fluffy and bright, a beacon of hope adjacent the grey clouds of the storm.