Your memory lives like thunder from a distant storm- the sound rattling my windows  shouting still here still here still here and though I can not feel the rain and my eyes were closed when the lightening came I know you’re there by the change in the air as the hair on my arms rises –

it’s been a long long time since it rained here and the fallow ground of this life has used what little moisture it could gather to grow this meager food, but I can feel it now- coming closer.

One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.

Three miles out now and the ghosting of cool storm air surrounds me erasing the heat of this late summer day. I can taste the rain coming in the ozone skimming over my tongue when I inhale. The older I get, the closer the storm comes to take me onward.

And in the wake of its deluge the footprints of my comings and goings are washed away and the dormant seeds sleeping deep in the ground will rise up and take the place of all who used to stand here.

It has always been this way. 

One one thousand. Two one thousand.