Spared a winter but not a spring.
Hail thrashes, splitting the wind
Into crystals lit by flashes,
Revealing shadows touching down
Like long fingers pointing curses.
My husband, the one-eyed lamp,
In our basement cave,
Checking the radar on his I-phone.
The cats subdued by the growling wind,
Finding refuge under a table by their litter.
And I, swathed in a blanket,
Sitting on the porta-potty seat,
Left over from a surgery,
To remain a throne in a storm.
My messages failed to send.
Roars diminishing to low growls,
Lightning flails like extinguishing flames,
Thunder stomps like a child wanting attention.
It passes over without forgiving.
New-born daffodils embracing the deluge now strain for morning.
Even storms are gifts.
Copyright © 2017 Barbara Harris Leonhard
Image: Brusheezy (free download)
https://www.brusheezy.com/brushes/1464-lightning-brushes
lightning-brushes
Extraordinary Sunshine Weaver 