Bright flash of lightning broke the sky apart.
And rain poured down, tearing away white dresses
from fragile plum trees, on a spring cold night.
The drops were kneading flowery odd laces.
The drops were beating a fast Irish dance
on the white dishes of the flowers petals.
Night air rocked like a tame snake in trance,
intoxicated with tart incense fragrance.
And thunder rattled. The earth winced in fright.
The stream of water brought away the laces:
a gauzy veil of a deep sleeping bride –
a red-cheeked spring with bright-wheat colour hair.
Deep sleeping spring had been inhaling cold
and had been breathing out a curling mellow
dove-coloured mist, which spread then out and rose,
soaring above a fully sodden meadow.
by Thea Ariss
07.05.2024