No Matter the Storm

There is rain. The wind howls
through the quarry, a low groan.
Sleet is mixed in, clicking on the windows.
February in March. Listen closely
and you can hear branches crack
and fall to the ground.
Now and again, thunder
and the crackle of lightning
as warm and cold fronts battle for supremacy.

The house feels the storm.
Windows rattle. Doors strain to stay in place.
The house feels the storm
but it has survived a pair of centuries of such storms.
There is a fire in the stove
and a blanket on the sofa.
We kiss in the storm, sure of our safety.
We will deal with the debris in the morning,
but until then, it is more than enough
to feel safe. With you.

No matter the storm

About this poem

A poem about love. About faith. About storms. I am blessed with plenty of all three.

The photograph was taken at the Manassas Battlefield, in Manassas, Virginia.