Colour Me November

Bitumen

Dark as night in the afternoon
Dampness clings to the air.
Bitumen clouds that are ready to burst,
Threaten to unleash their torrents

Deafening roar of wind through trees
Debris flies faster than concorde
Crows pitch and dive to gain a few feet
Trees double over, branches cracking.

War is waged against the gusting winds
Determined to starve me of breath.
Bitumen clouds join in the fun
Delivering on their biting promise.

Retreat.
The battle is lost.