Monsoon

The gentle moving hand of the wind

Sweeps its wings to the ground

Sifting the earth so even the children can feel

What is under their bare feet

Black blends with white

Like the greatest artist blotting the canvas

Which is the sky

Drums beat high above in the heavens

To join the people as they rejoice

The atmosphere is still

No one dares breathe

Until the first of the raindrops

Leave the embrace of the clouds

And finally let go to meet the welcome land.

I wrote it myself. :)

It reminds me of monsoon in Pakistan. The smell of the shifting earth, the grey sky and the cool wind in my face. I love  sandstorms the most.