The storm brews in silence

Creamy, buttery sunlight
highlights gnats swarming,
pestering,
begging for my attention.

Vibrant, cotton candy blue sky
drapes
lavender mountain ridges,
looming,
waiting to be noticed.

“A storm is brewing up north.”

The oldtimer clad in grim khaki plaid
grinds out his prediction
past his equally
dismal brown
carpenter’s pencil clenched in
tea-toned teeth.
Watching,
lifting his head,
nodding in agreement with himself.

“How does he know?”

I watch; see only sun and shimmering sky.
Lift my head; feel only the filmy breeze.
No storm vibes tingling here.
No clouds darken,
threaten,
portend.

The storm brews in silence.
Somehow, he hears.

And, it pours.

(From a combination of prompts: Write a poem where a color features prominently and “A storm is brewing up North.”)

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