The Primal Elements

A cloud ceiling so low and
darkly menacing it could pose
as oncoming night eager to camouflage 
the remains of a day sloppy with the
poor housekeeping of untoward
weather events. It will again
result in a downpour, yet
the thunderous roar muting
the sounds of all else does not
descend from above, but rises
relentlessly in a chaotic symphony
of force from recent overnight
rains like monsoons rushing
madly in clear, tumbling spurts
spread over the side of the mountain.
The river of rainwater spuming
and sparkling, hurled over boulders
and granite raceways, foaming
thick white bolsters of eddies
as it splurges richly, finding its
inexorable passage through the
futile resistance of rockfall and
pockets of scree, sending fine mists
freely luxuriant into the atmosphere
already sodden and preparing for yet 
another feint from above, to be 
inundated in yet another initiation 
rite in the conflicting puissance of 
the elements of granite and weather.