The Day

The day dawns.
The hot air is still,
The hint of a breeze.
The sun climbs higher,
In it's travels it shines down.
The breeze picks up,
Now it is a stream of air,
Weaving through the day.
It blows my hair into my face.
Dark clouds gather.
Roiling, swarming, gathering.
The wind is a mighty river now,
blowing over the hot, dry land.
The land is parched.
The wind picks up dust from the ground.
The dark clouds burst,
Torrents of icy water fall from the sky.
Now there really is a river in the air.
The wind dies down,
The dark clouds roll away,
Revealing a blue sky.
Evening comes,
dusk fills the air as the sun dies.
The day sets.