A calm
a sticky greenness.
We feel walled-in.
(an elevator stuck between floors)
Soundless, low flying birds
(not even the swish of feathers)
give a visual
warning while seeking
a place to ride out
the screaming wind.
They are moving low
in the honeysuckle
its scent now almost sickening.
Not the usual comforting
summer smell
of its juice and flower
orange-white sweet.
Watching, waiting for the shadowed
clouds to empty.
That first grumble
then the crack of light
that makes the hair stand
a prickling on the arms.
It is relaxing
to have it finally come.
To breathe in
exhale the unnatural stress
like a sneeze
that brings down a headache.

-M J Eaton