Storm at RoussillonSuddenly stair-rod rain came
tipping through the gauze of heat
that had trapped the scorched air like a parasol.
Just walking had been difficult, shirts
wet and salt-stained; now
slicks of red and orange ochres
stymied attempts to run; fearsome
chains of lightning cracked the clouds,
quarried cliffs seemed melting
gaudy crayons in an earthen pot.
Nobody would have been surprised to meet
apprentice Mickey running with a bucket,
casting huge shadows on the liquid walls;
but then he's working not too far from Paris.
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Photo ©2001 La Cassouliere