After the Storm

The Storm that raged has shut His lips
His eyes that flashed are closed
Spittle that flew, reduced to drips
The fury now composed

The stones He hurled now lie about
The damage done is ended
A breeze, His whisper, it does not shout
’til what can be is mended

___________________________

Not long ago, I had the experience of traveling with a storm that felt personified. If you have spent much time in the Great Plains, you know that thunderstorms there typically move in a Northeasterly direction.

Traveling south along side such a storm, moving in the opposite direction, I and my companions felt as though we were clear of it. Then abruptly and inexplicably, a portion of the bad weather phenomenon broke away from the rest and moved due South. The bad weather stayed just in front of our car the entire remainder of the drive, daring us to accelerate and catch up with the red blob displayed on the weather ap radar. We opted instead to make multiple stops at various and sundry locations, so that each time we caught up to it, it could regain its lead. This slow approach left the drive slow but visible and less dangerous.

Our 8 hour drive turned into a 12 hour one.

Poem originally published October 31, 2021