Just Another Day

Just Another Day


Bruised clouds
roiling blue-grey,
tinged with red,
a hint of green
presaged the storm.

Air, heavy,
throttling;
pressing down
keeping you a prisoner
within its grasp.

Downdraft
whispers of cool before
bowing the trees,
sending pine needles stitching
across the yard.

The sky cracks open
to erupting thunder,
as, momentarily blinded,
you are drenched.
Even the rain is hot.

Phone pings of thunderstorm
warnings ignored
as we run for cover.
Can't see across the yard
yet feel the tree hit the ground.

Lights flicker, go off,
leaving us in mid-day darkness.
The dog quivers --she's never
liked storms. Sirens scream
in town. Basement beckons.

Coming from the cool damp
into a sauna. Next fall's firewood
litters the yard. Generator burps
into action. Bad hair day
for the hibiscus.

A hummingbird quenches thirst
at the feeder. Evening gives way to night.
Stars glitter and the Perseids stream
across a quiet sky. The dog snores
in my lap. I wrap my shawl closer.

Seventy feels almost cold
after days of almost three-digit heat.
'Ought to be about three face cords, I figure,'
my husband says, planning. The storm
is gone. All's right in our world.