Late afternoon,
daylight
is broken by
clouds coming
through.

Top split,
branches bent,
dead grey
tree stays
in one place.

Dark blue
sky hues
vent
wind and water while
lightning and thunder
vibrates the ground
with a growl like rumble.

Droplets fall
fierce as dragons
who lost their wings mid-flight
pounding the ceiling;
No fire breath in sight.

The concrete,
light grey to white
becomes
wet brown.

I sit down,
door open,
to hear the storm,
watching puddles form
like my grandpa
used to do.

A rogue river
of water
runs by and around my window
making my guard shack
feel like Huck Finn’s
flat bottom,
houseboat
floating on
the mighty Mississippi.

Now nature’s
muse is loose.
My eyes burn heavy.
I long to lose
the burden of
consciousness
and sleep through this
not out of boredom
but from the sweet
bliss of this
early evening
storming.