Before the Storm

Something of the clouds,
The in-blowing storm.
The grey-yellow eddies
Were flat, eerie, surreal.
But there was different
Air with this storm,
Something amiss,
Something tangible.
What was this precipitation’s purpose?
You could almost smell it
It was as though you could
Hear the miles-coming rain
Sighing into the ocean its design and destiny.
Grace. To destroy drought.
There was grace in that rain.
Grace of that storm.