This afternoon,

loaded with omens,

Uncertainty,

Fear,

they can never be,

brushed away like dirt under a rug,

because of the inhuman perversity,

of brown grass, water scorings and grieving wind,

This place is where Fallen Angels retire,

Ugly, Sharp, Dry, Desolate, Dangerous,

Inexplicable.

The weather,

I believe,

does a grand review,

but you never know why

the weather has changed...

Everything has beauty,

this afternoon filled me with clarity,

The light,

A hundred variations of red

and silver gray,

like colored fires that change and change again,

I hear the excited crackle of branches,

A tree becomes a spraying fountain,

That looks crystal clear and clean,

Inexplicable.