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Before it pours

pours1
There are signs –
A slowing down, a hushed silence
A quietude
A darkening
A cutting of the light
A pall of gloom
As condensed grays sweep across blue skies
Moving in
Ominously; a sense of purpose
A breeze follows- an emissary, heralds the arrival
Takes its’ birth in the womb of the nebula
And makes its way down
Whispers a warning
Touches the nape of the neck
Brushes the temples
The trees hear it
Branches swaying; rustling in acceptance
The birds hear it-
Flapping their wings; an urgency
The heavens bellow, a call to pay heed
Yellow leaves fall, bits of paper rise
Street dogs disappear
Homeless cats hide
They’ve run to safety –
And from there they watch
The menacing grays looming overhead
Waiting in earnest for the storm to pass
They see the signs
The trees, the birds and the others’
All; but us.
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