I sat tonight and watched as the clouds stooped low across the valley, their grey presence endowing the the night with a presence both forbidding and calming.
A blanket of dense foreboding, the anticipation of rain with no guarantee of its coming. And the air became very still.
Every breath was felt, Every current of the air became telling, a tense suggestion of the relief to come, but always as a possibility, never as a promise.
The Moon, almost full, hung invisible beyond the cloud covered Universe, it's light filtered and scattered like the promises of unfulfilled Love. Its power diminished by the actions of atmospheric intent, it could only sail on and watch.
I sat in the stillness, an unwilling watcher in the night, the heavens forming and folding in an atmospheric ballet of beauty and threat. I breathed that still air, I felt the weight of anticipation as the night unfolded in the air around me.
My breath caught, I was entrapped by the moment as the the billowing clouds dropped lower, loomed darker, threatened the welcoming but impossible rain.
And then, as by the hand of the Divine, they lifted.
The Moon shone through, and all that could have been was gone.
