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STORM'S PASSING

The staccato rhythm of raindrops
dances on the rooftop. The wind howls around
like the proverbial wolf, beating roughly
at the door. Low drumbeats of thunder
roll after brassy flashes of lightning,
clapping wickedly with static energy,
electrically fortified within the dark clouds
tumbling swiftly above.

The heavy, wet curling of spanish moss
hangs eerily behind veils of rain,
scarcely moving in the torrent
that pounds brutally down.
Leaves tremble on twisted, whipping branches.
Trees are gnarled into agonized shapes,
roots knotted like arthritic fingers,
grasping to keep their handhold on the earth.

The fearsome blowing
of a summer storm sets the heart
to pounding, the pulse to racing,
the breath to a quickening.
Behind rattling windows,
darting eyes scan ominous skies,
any slow rotation giving rise
to a momentary panic.

Sunlight slices through
blackened skies, and the sluicing
of the rain abruptly ceases.
An earthy scent of warm wetness
steams up from the ground as low thunder
rumbles softly in the distance.
The air is fresh and the sky is clear,
the sun warm upon the shoulders.

Learn more about this author, Tina Dene.
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