Lookout

The drumbeat of water is the best sort
of background noise, punctuated
by birdsong and the occasional
distracted glance at nimbostratus
hovering in the distance, invitation
to tease their own condensed element
back to earth;

And now here it comes, sideways slants
glancing off metal rooftops, gusts
of wind billowing off corrugated eaves,
settling onto shrubs and bedding plants
tucked into mulch for a summer not
quite yet arrived;

While the southeast portion of the island
liquefies under Pele’s fiery fingers,
unseasonably protracted showers continue
here in the north, saturating sacred ground,
percolating down and into turquoise ocean
channels to draw the gaze wide and vacant
over vast distances, infinite possibilities
cresting just above an indigo horizon;

I do not know how I would fare living
inland, perpetually having been anchored
to one shoreline or another, yearning
for seas on which to launch a thousand
projections; hopes and dreams carried
forth on variable winds meant to capture
and billow the sails of fellow mariners.

~photo series “What the rains bring,” ©Bela Johnson