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Poetry: Storms

Storm Child

The musty scent
of fertile earth
has again risen
from below the
protective blanket
of pine and dying,
fallen leaves
and grass.
Gentle, fat droplets
come first;
pattering upon the ground,
waking the soil and
sending the scent
to me as a gift.
It sails on a moist,
dancing breeze moving
across the purple, untamed
sky filled with light
and wisps of foggy dreams.
I'm not afraid of the
threatening sounds and
the blustering winds to come.
Life is renewed and
turns back upon itself.
There is a promise
of energy, rest and healing
on the heels of the wild and
unpredictable storm.
I am a child of storms.
I am a friend of thunder
and the seeker of lightening.
The cool, moist, dangerous air
is nourishment to my restless soul.
And so let the rains begin.

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