Dust clouds smother and choke the air
Lingering, frustrating, tormenting.
Neither blooming nor swirling
They hover like thick plagues of locusts going nowhere.
A wagon progression lays in wait
Patient but increasingly despairing
They know their harvest is spoiling in the dry heat
But the dangers of the winding road ahead, require clarity
Cultivated treasures once gleamed
with all the promises of earths abundance
Now, the grey brown shadows of decay threaten
while tiny insects swarm and infest.
The wagon riders are weary, dejected, defeated
They know the harsh winter will soon be upon them
And they will be without – their mere survival is now paramount.
- But the dust clouds will not settle.
3rd September 2006