She stitches clouds
with rainbow strands
Her threads disappear
invisibly mending the azure silk
Her hills are swept
her valleys washed and rinsed
blow-dried
and rinsed again
Now shining, gleaming
under her waxing
moon
she smiles
No wonder we call her
Mother
But then
she has her moods…
Father, wake up!
She has ‘that look’ on her face
Gathering her army
thundering slate-grey battalions
and cumulus lunatic laughter
she sends artillery
frozen, sharp and stinging
targeting buffalo, elk, pony and man
ice bullets pelting hides
they bounce, burst, land and melt
streaming down the rough fur coats
that Father made
knowing of her
long
winter tantrums
Brokenpenwriter's Blog 
Such a timely poem, given the extreme weather on both sides of the Atlantic. Let’s hope “that look” on her face disappears soon!
I agree, we’ve all had enough of these moods!
The four seasons are a lot like people’s moodiness. I loved it!
What a lovely way of describing Nature’s moods. It’s monsoon time here in South India where I’m these days. I’m located in Bangalore for the most part, but visit my hometown in Kerala over alternate weekends,. The skies here now are definitely that of a moody mother , now angry, now unable to keep up the pretence and breaking into grins. 🙂
I love your description of the moody mother’s pretense. It’s so true, despite angry weather – beneath it all is an unending love, acceptance and delight in each of us.