The thunderhead, black and pregnant with rain, blows across my path again.
A night of wind and breath, questions and groaning.
Will it rain?
It looks like rain.
Is that a drop?
What if there’s rain?
What if there’s no rain?
The air is thick with chaos and humidity as tall grasses bend low and shush loudly.
But then, as quickly as it moved in, the gale pushes the storm beyond the place where I am.
No storm tonight.
Only clouds.
And currents pitching against one another.
And I am left again in the wake of warm breezes on a strange and erratic precipice.
Wondering.
Hoping.
In the wild waiting place.

*For Jude.
I should have known you’d throw all our expectations to the wind, you little wild man.
We love you…and love waiting for you.