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I can feel it. 
It’s not quite tangible, 
Just out of reach,
Yet nonetheless real. 
Like a sixth sense on my sixth sense. 
The anticipation hangs in the air, 
The thick, jelly like, immovable air. 
Tempers shorter on the most patient
Those who swing through life, 
Suddenly affronted with having to swim,
Swim against a tide of… something. 
A tide that is relentless, 
Emotionally draining, fuelled by our anxiety. 
Our not knowing, not being able to fathom, 
Exactly what is coming. 
But it is. 
It is coming. 
There is no doubt. 
Like the literal and metaphorical calm, 
Preceding the tempestuous, 
Tumultuous and angry storm,
It is here. 
And here we sit. 
Amongst the neuroses, 
Fear, confusion, enquiry, 
We sit and we can do nothing other than wait. 
The spark of electricity in the air, 
As the humidity rises, I am mistaken. 
I believe I have been tricked. 
It is only the weather. 
Balmy, steamy summer nights. 
Perpetual sun, heat beating down, 
Melatonin reacting to turn milk skin to tan, 
Eyes bright, hair to bleaching, 
Yet I have been lulled, falsely lured. 
The misgivings of a storm. 
Yes a storm, that’s the answer. I can feel it. 
The static in the air making for
The break, the welcome break we are all
Hoping, willing, pleading for. 
As I lay in bed night after night. 
I hear the wind start, gentle then force. 
The direction alters and the sweet smell, 
Petrichor floats through my window.
The first raindrops are inaudible
Yes the scent betrays the precipitation, 
Alerting me to the cloud burst above. 
Slow building, deep-pitted rumbling, 
Thunder to engage with the now stair-rod
Downpour. Lightening to join. 
Nature is warring, outside my safe haven, 
As elements battle with heat of the day and cooling night. 
And then as quickly as started is gone, 
A distant memory, with only lingering notions to 
Fill my nose. So I am relieved. 
Believing the storm was the intangible I sought. 
The air was thinned, by diamond sharp droplets, 
Treacle transformed to the sheerest gossamer, 
Yet I was wrong. 
No sooner has the rain stopped, I know the humidity is returning. 
As ink droplets in a glass of water, 
Twisting and turning, heavying the air once more. 
The feelings are still apparent, 
The storm was a distraction, 
A physical necessity of a hot summers day, 
My anxiety remains. 
I know it’s coming. The ether holds heavy, 
The disturbance in Gia can not be halted. 
No human hand can undo, what is sure to come. 
I know not why, what, where or when, 
But my uneasy gut is never wrong. 
Nature is warning us, 
We must in some way heed. 

©?EG-H 2023
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