Although the landscape is level
clouds begin to bellow
in the distance

Mere wisps at first
gradually more pronounce
gray, then coal-black

Interrupted with flashes
strikes, bold and brilliant
disappearing, reappearing
each with a thunderous entry
and silently sleeking away

Where would it display
its fury and
what would be
left behind

Was it birthed of one’s own volition
Was it intended or uncontrolled
Nevertheless, left behind
is a blistered path
waiting to be healed
to spring forth
albeit slowly as a
recovering forest
after a wildfire