I love this time of year.
When the heat becomes unbearable and the endless blank blue sky stretched across the dusty bowl that is our city seems to be unyielding, the clouds emerge and the monsoon thunders in. Here the gods show their hand at painting in light and shadows. Peachy pink sunsets and half moons playing peek-a-boo with the misty grey. Rainbows trickle in shading small parts of the sky in effervescent colors.
It has a cooling effect on the soul such beauty does.
Grace traces its name in the blooming clouds. Vast billowing monsters stretching across the sky. The rolling fog of the bay has nothing on these undulations.
The bright blue is there and the sun as well. Her rays play hide and seek only to burst forth illuminating tubular columns of sea mist.
The sunburnt soul finds its place of quiet here.
The warmth will return, of course, as summer has not ended. Mid-season spectaculars consume energy quickly and return us to that yawning heat.
Hail beats upon the steaming pavement with one mighty war cry and an army of wind. That howl that surges forth from me released at last, for I too will not be denied.
I, like her, monsoon raging, stand incongruously to expectation can be that place of a faith restored.