Jiya Backup

These, the last days of summer, deliriously mournful, cool breeze of September making herself known, clouds puffing to dusty rose, cicadas in the eve, Ishmael from off the watery seas, returning to port. Whales, dolphins wending their way back, wanderers, travelers, Osysseus himself, the rootless, the homeless, the squirrel preparing his way, These, the last days of summer, almost over-ripe, when earth tilts and signals a return.

Nomadic clouds against a silken sky, advancing caravan, white, luminous. Advancing stealthfully, yearningly, white coarse sails, mother's milk, Clouds of compassion.

Fleeing, Jonah boards a ship in Jaffa, He says nothing to the mariners, peers up at huge clouds, clouds of compassion, whiter than milk, advancing like a caravan. When the sky darkens and hail pelts the ship, Jonah admits his guilt. Mariners try to save him, but in the end, they too cede to the inevitable. Only after tossing him overboard, does the storm abate.