The Pool
I see a perfect reflection in
the mirror of the pool.
Not a breath of wind to disturb
its clarity.
I gaze awhile until a single
raindrop sends ripples of
disruption to destroy
the perfection -
distorting the image;
rupturing my expression;
deforming the shape of
my torso.
Another raindrop falls
and even more so
until the image is a blur,
swirling, whipped up
by the whistling wind.
I stand by the pool
as the storm builds;
thunder stealthily approaching
from behind the distant hills.
Magnificent in its crescendo.
Lightning flashing,
booming, crashing.
Then the silence
as the storm passes.
Wind dropped, no more rain,
and a perfect reflection in the pool again.
Copyright © Helen J Radford | Year Posted 2008
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