Great Thunderstorms

We've had some pretty good storms lately but it seems up here in the Northeastern United States, or at the very least here in Washington, DC they are extremely short.  Last night was the first exception to that comment in the 10 years I've lived here.  The storm was beautiful, loud,  harsh, thunderous, windy and long!  It reminded me of the storms I used to sit on my back porch in Memphis and watch.  I always loved the quiet just before the storm.  You could feel the humidity and pressure in the air and in the summer the sweet sweet smell of the peonies were much more fragrant.  I miss the south for these things.

Anyone who has known me for more than 10 years knows I've had my moments.  Most artists do.  I think my "moments" are fairly well behind me now and I seem to float through life on an even keel.  Much to the suffering of my art I must admit, but unlike famous artists of the past I am not willing to sacrifice my happiness to produce good art.  Not that I was any where near becoming famous.  During one such "moment" where I had just lost my dear Grandmother and her sister (My Great Aunt) both to cancer and both within a week of one another I was sitting on my back porch and enjoying one of those quiet before the storm moments and I wrote the following poem:

Lightening bugs in my trees

As I sit with the summer breeze

One dark evening, a storm on the rise,

The wind plays my hanging chimes.

The majestic trees dance and play

As the lightening bugs glow and sway

The crickets trumpet just below

Adding their talents to the musical show

A sweet scent carries on the breeze

The smell of honeysuckle it frees

Mingled with the peony flower

my nose is enjoying this sweet hour.

Minutes pass and time stands still

Nature speaks if you only will

listen to her with patient ears

she soothes your worries and calms your fears.

I sit and watch the spectacle of lightening,

to far to hear or to be frightening

the storm approaches as the breeze turns to wind

Causing the ancient trees branches to bend.

Enthused with what this lightening may bring

I hear my windchimes beginning to sing

Louder and longer their song becomes

They let me know when my storm comes.

I grow anxious for her arrival

My storm's rage is my survival

When she rips and tears through the Earth

It is my rage that she gives birth.

From rage and hate I need relief

Rage and hate my storm shall release

She comes closer as her lights grow brighter

I can not wait to sit down beside her.

Her viscious wind and cool rain

Will wash away all of my pain

And when my storm's tantrum is suddenly finished

My rage and pain will have diminished.

With thunderous feet she now approaches

My giant storm, my world she encroaches

With open arms I welcome her home

I smile and rock, sitting alone.