Late Spring rains in the Wheatbelt have a distinct smell. With it comes the threat of thunderstorms that can damage crops with heavy rain, hail and fires started by lightning. There is nothing you can do but watch and hope for the best.
“The heavens do not merely break; they exhale. Here, the landscape is caught in a silvered breath, where the earth reaches up to meet the descending shroud of the storm. It is a quiet erasure—a moment where the solid world surrenders its edges to the soft, rhythmic persistence of the rain. There is a profound stillness in this turbulence, a reminder that even the most fleeting of storms leaves a permanent mark upon the soul of the land.” -Anonymous
Poetry of Precipitation
Various print options are available directly from my RebBubble store. Price depends on size and print options selected.
