We did not notice their coming. Eyes fixed on the apex, minds on the map, our breath shortening to the point of discomfort. Stopping then and turning to the east, sucking in salty ozone breaths from the wide flat seascape below. Skylarks filtered upward into silence. The still point suddenly broken when chilly gusts swept in, stroking with giant hands across the unripe acres. Clouds gathering - murakumo - murmured the barley, passing the message from ear to ear and bowing. We turned and saw legions of light-dispelling nebulae, rolling inexorably over us, spitting large globules of rain before there was even time to take cover in the ragged field boundaries. But really there was no need, for the clouds rushed on, to disperse one by one over the sea. We had seen their spectacle in droplets of suspended time, before skylarks returned to earth.
fat green barley plumes
gathering drops of heaven
clouds of mayfly soon
© Laura Granby 2016
‘Murakumo/gathering clouds’ belatedly composed for Haibun Monday where Toni @ DVerse inspires us to take a Japanese sky word for her prompt: The sky is the limit and tying up with the Tuesday Platform too
PoetryPix 