FORTY NINE: Goddess of rain

Woman of winds,
In the arms of a cloud
Dreams of a summer
Gone dull without fire.
A hundred hills scattered around,
Fortresses, grass and weathered trees
Patiently waiting for a streak of the sun
To turn the mist into a caress of golden brown.

Silhouetted against a grey blue sky,
Breeze twisting dark casacades of lustrous hair
And a gossamer gently suspended beyond,
Sacred, scared to touch her lips,
To break the reverie in her eyes.

The dayts too short, nights too small.
A thousand years may pass by
Rains can come and go, entombed
Within the dimension of time
To capture her images in my words.

One goddess of rain, woman of winds,
Stood in the arms of a cloud,
Watching at a distance the lifting veil
Of a newly wed bride.