Finally the rain-snow-sleet has stopped –
though, I remain in recovery, still,
from a particularly, virulent bout
of epically belligerent
West Coast January weather.
It began benignly enough, in irksome
stop-starts of blubbering sniffles
– sadly, a fairly chronic condition –
at this time of the year
but, by day three, it appeared
to be in the throes of some sort of
convulsive demonic possession
raining down upon the earth,
a blast of meteorological phenomena:
so multifarious and alien in the sheer
conglomeration of forms, that precipitation,
can materialize in: that
humankind has yet to coin the noun
befitting such a histrionic deluge.
But, at last, it has stopped –
leaving myself, and the rest of
the doused population of the land
to fill our lungs, jubilantly,
with gentle lachrymose air, infused with
the distinctive aroma of moldy cheese . . .
on a wet dog.
note: the prompt at Poetry Jam this week is "Tis the Season".
photo: West Coast January Weather – W. Bourke
© 2015 Wendy Bourke