A charcoal-hazed backdrop releases its hoard…
So the impeccably executed arrows can raze the sky.
And the tall trees’ boughs acquiesce to the wind’s bend.
Weighted globules’ lateral bravado pounds the tin roofs.
I see the luminous sparks’ melee adding pizzazz…
But the thunder roll’s memorial executes the power!
Hear the Thunder roll a melodramatic bass and baritone!
(And all the other sounds are given no choice, but to cease)...
To allow the sky’s magnificence to have center stage…
While centuries old oaks pay homage to the thunder roll.
As a wee child, I used no fear; now this grown woman has no quivers.
No longer afraid, I have any shivers.
I now stand to relinquish what was stored.
And revel in the awesomeness of the thunder roll.
All rights reserved JHM Nature Call series 3-13-03 ©