Standing Topsides Awaiting Weather

Standing,

Four Ante Meridian,

I hear summer thunder.

Heat,

Moist, enveloping, comforting,

Yet in this early almost-day,

There exists an ominous bringing,

The familiar ringing of behemoth’s singing.

Thunder resonates, reverberates,

My ears only hear, tautly await,

Ferocious vibrations that resonate.

Anticipating,

I smell ozoned air,

In my head I can feel,

Wide-swept humming, lo-swept vibration,

Urgent hushed calling.

The front.

It is coming.

The birds are still singing the dawn’s early chorus,

Yet something monstrous is thrumming,

Soon to be upon us.

Peering,

Though it is near dawn,

New darkness is evolving,

Sudden rain sluices,

With the hot wet emotion,

Of violence fast coming,

The blow is upon us.

My four limbs are shaking,

WeatherWorld unmakes me,

As if I was naked.

The storm strikes us, urgent,

It whips me uncaring,

I think to retreat,

But the power is so sweet,

To acknowledge and endure,

Gusts make me feel pure.

At every pulsed minute,

Flesh may be swept from my bones,

No chance to atone.

Yet this doesn’t matter,

My inner brain chatter,

Leaps,

Clings to the sky:

The big “Ask Me Not Why”,

And I swallow this shower,

Savage atmosphere’s power.

After,

I am not sorry,

Mindless, strong, the gale continues on.

I am weak, and so tiny,

Anima aches for the mighty.

Paula Lyons, MD
6/7/2020