Golden hues fade with the late afternoon sun.
Rusty brown stalks, caressed by a breeze,
ripple in waves like a white crested sea.
The jagged line of gray weathered fence posts
staggers awkwardly down the abrupt hillside
leading the eye to a hidden gully.
Winding, twisting, snaking, it cuts deep into the earth,
like a tender skin gouged by barbed-wire.
Powdery sandstone juts from the ravine walls.
Mini platforms sustain clumps of prairie grass,
sprinkled along the outcrops in erratic design.
A wisp of the previous breeze
teases a tiny twig of common juniper.
It whispers a word of warning.
The dreaded black clouds trickle into an orange sky and
Soon their billowing forms dominate the horizon.
White lightning flares crookedly among the turbulence,
winking wickedly at the trembling earth.
A horrendous rumbling echoes off Square Butte.
Birds, deer, rabbits, and gophers scurry to safety.
The first drops fall like tears
seeping through the clouds in a summer shower.