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.