Memories of a Storm

It rolled through last night, began at dusk. A glass of wine while sitting on the porch and the distant  thunder began.   The sun shrunk away, almost in fear it seemed. The songs of birds quieted, and the trees began to move.   Without much notice the once blue, moved to the other side, it’s gray. That which seemed light by day, was now dark and heavy.   With bottle half gone, suddenly, lightning strikes with criticism. The little sting of drops, and then the rains commence.   Totally unleashed the torrent begins, it jolts, bangs and crashes. Heavy now, non-stop, nowhere to hide, dark, unceasing.   Without remorse or worry, the storm at peak. The last sense of things leaves, and the remains are dark and grisly.   The sound now like a train, with the instincts of the wild, lashes out,  cutting across the sky and shaking the ground.   There’s no turning back, time and life only move forward. Everything has been soaked now, shaken by thunder and bitten by lighting.   At last it slows, tired and worn. The energy is spent, it has left a cool emptiness.   Some quiet now, drops like tears from the shaken trees. The wren’s head appears from its nest, In the hanging basket of flowers.   At dawn the sun peaks, as if testing the safety of things. Beside me, the blue returns, no memory of the for- nights storm.