Poem: In Gratitude for Storms


In Gratitude for Storms

If you stand still enough, you can hear the creek in the distance.
You can hear cows in the fields beyond the town.
You can hear the wind in the trees and the groan of ancient limbs.

A storm is coming and the air turns cool.
The light grows dim. In the distance, there is thunder.
Things move slowly here, and the storm is a while off

but there is no escaping it. Only time enough to find shelter,
time enough to wait and feel the air tingle with approaching electricity.
The birds grow quiet.

The thunder grows more raucous and closer than is likely safe
and still you stand, grateful for the earth’s madness
that drowns out your own.

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