And the storm rolls in.
Resurrection is on the horizon,
Like a long lost friend.
Outside, the sky darkens,
Deepening into endless abyss.
The distant heavens tinker with
My wonder-hungry imagination.
A desert landscape in the sky, perhaps?
The sun is aching to retire
Into sleep, but the dark
Clouds continuously pull back the curtains.
The air is heavy with
Late spring humidity and
The smell of honeysuckle.
Sweet, tempting, lethargic.
Disobedient raindrops tickle my toes.
Lightning is both fleeting and sweeping,
Electrifying the earth with its long fingers.
Thunder shudders throughout my veins.
And above our red door,
A purple martin abides.
He keeps watch with me: waiting
On this enchanted night.
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| Apparently, this is what my camera thinks lightning looks like. |
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