|
| |
The Sigh
It started with dry leaves
pirouetting around
the yard on the back
of a skittish breeze,
the magnolia rubbing
against the fence
as if scratching an itch,
a few raindrops teasing
a thirst. Then,
distant thunder.
The sound seemed to cue
a tightening in the core,
an instinctive brace against
what was to come. Soon,
a sudden flash…
followed by a loud crack
and a shudder sent rolling
through the guts of every
living thing.
Wind clawed at seams,
unpicking the afternoon
to fling leaf, branch
and limb into tumbling air,
cartwheeling chairs across
the lawn. Hailstones tore
the fragile into bite size bits,
beheading blooms before
suddenly stopping
and crusting the ground
in a white shroud
of innocence.
It was over. An unusual quiet
let soft sounds soothe
the air - trickling water,
the tap of weighted leaves
shedding raindrops,
murmurings of ice melt.
I felt an easing
as if an anger within me
had been released
leaving only a sigh.
Copyright ©
Paul Willason
|
|