as the first clouds of the coming storm

ride up and over the mountains, catching

and casting the gold of the late day sun,

while in the valleys arrayed to the east

deep cloud-shadows slide up and over

and around, caressing the long curves

of her hills, then fall away, smoothly

like the silk of her dress might slide

from the skin of a lover’s shoulder.

how can we not love her?

this earth. how can we not want

to lay ourselves across the soft rise

of her hills, want to lose ourselves

in the gathering shadows of her valleys,

imbed ourselves in the moist warmth

of her hollows? how can we not surrender

to the cries of her thunder, to the white

heat of her lightning, how

can we not abandon ourselves completely

to the dark and passionate embrace

of her terrible gathering storms?

© Old Bones, New Snow/  J.A. Fink   2013