Here
From below greatness proliferates into leaf, bud, flower, and fruit. Then the drying grass glows, the color of light honey. Then it darkens, breaks. We can see the soft brown soil underneath. Overhead, lifted from land and sea, greatness now moves across the exposed hills. Cumulonimbus. Water, opaque and diaphanous, pushed by powerful winds plays tag with our senses. The tops of the willows trace the line of the hill just behind, and behind that, ascends the line of a higher hill, capped in shadow, then sun. It’s going to rain, but not yet. A few leaves on the walnut tree stagger before they fall like earrings to the ground. They have danced with the wind since March. We can see the massive undulating limbs through what is left of the foliage.
The cumulonimbus resembles the crest of a great wave breaking over the distant hills. Our departed but forever beloved fluffies play in those clouds, surfing their magical cotton crests until angels call them Home.