In the space between storms

I’m walking the gravel road
in the space between storms.
The air is clean, the way it is
after days of rain and wind.

Shredded clouds race overhead
to unknown rendezvous,
stormwater drains from the cow field
under a rough stone wall of dark basalt.

For a few hours of patchy sunlight
I uncovered the raised garden beds,
protected from the storm and night cold.
The kale are so young and tender,

I can’t deny them this respite, this nourishment.
The next storm will sweep in tonight
a tyrant, throwing its weight around.
We all must breathe and stretch while we can.