In the early morning, early summer
before hydrogen bakes all the time.

The temperature is perfectly weathered
and my billowing thoughts climb
cumulonimbus to stratospheres of
barely expressible joy as ideas,
anvil-like rise and begin drifting
state-to-state, across the plain.

My air is tempered and flowing warm
oceans of ideas and stirrings around,
the sky beyond is alive azure blue
to the Azores and arced to Carolina.

Breathless my wind makes no sound as
delight increases from the east
and flashes of inspiration cross
synapse to stratus and flashing back.

Storms beautiful and powerful slipstream
across my soul beckoning washing with
renewal and growth of my life below.

This front must surely pass another
direction but now the air is sweet to
taste and joyfully wets the lips.

© agoodguy2have 2010-06-18