STORM WARNING

The cotton balls are gathering,
antiseptic velvet wisps,
spun beads of pearl-like sugar
dot clear blue skies
in ancient stranded mist.

Their gossamer fingers interlock,
a rummage sale of knotted fluff.
Pastry flakes, ethereal gauze.
One veil-like cluster, then splits in two,
raising winds that weave a bridal halo,
into virgin blankets, ghostly braids.

They dab and sprinkle,
each playful swirl bumping into the next,
until angelic bowers curtsy to the earth,
twilling cotton ball rain in sticky dew,
and summer’s drape spreads anew.