It’s pretty well-worn imagery,
but the storms really do roll here.
Seemingly from two directions at once,
the scooping wind is a solid presence.
The trees do a stadium wave up and down the street.
The sky darkens, slowly, from the northwest.
have fled indoors,
birdflight is comically controlled
The cloud lightning is a tease,
pulsing but seldom forking,
thunder sounding but never cracking.
Always, somehow, behind the trees
and never overhead.
Too soon, only remnants,
complaining and ragged
in the distance
and it’s a little lonesome
in this dripping, scented quiet,
just one lone dog somewhere,