Stuck in a Dust Storm

There I stand,
My feet rest on the worn planks of the veranda.
The sky is hot and heavy,
I look through the gauze and rest my hand on the windowsill.
Dust collects on my fingers,
And the sun seems to beat the earth with each passing second.
The orange cloud looms ahead,
Its dusty wisps wrapping up the outback.
Choking the colour out of the bush,
And slowly draining the breath of my home.
The pepper tree shivers and the crow calls,
The sun isn’t filtering through the dust anymore.
The wind picks up, it blows and blows,
Bang goes the roof and out the power goes.
I slam the sliding door shut now,
I sit down at the table.
And wait for the storm to pass.