Shadorma 229
Flat bottoms
scraping on the trees
weary clouds
edges frayed
curse and drag themselves awake.
Bloated. Fractious. Sour.
8/26/19
Shadorma 230
Wary eyes
watch the clouds decide:
all-out rain
here and now
or resentful bloated sulk
and then all-out rain.
8/26/19
Shadorma 231
As shadows
we wait in the field
on the edge
of night lives
we do not share. A lone tree.
Screech owl. The full moon.
8/29/19
Claudia McGill Writes Poetry, Did You Know That? 
I really like the atmosphere in all of these poems. They all have that weight of the moment before something happens. I think I identify with those clouds.
So often I think acloudy day is just that, something waiting to happen, to let go, and then to transform, maybe.