Storm


It’s the kind that crawls in under the summer sunshine.
Soft, growly thunder beats the humid Indiana air,
Scouting:
Making way for the heavy-laden travelers.
When it comes, steady streaming, all is wet-covered
And the earth drinks deeply.
Bubbles sail through growing puddles and down rivulets
Sculpting the ingenuous dirt.
In the pasture, the Martin house sways on its long pole,
Like a tall man just woken from a long nap.
Rain prances on the tin of the barn roof with a rhythmic cacophony
And washes over the sharp edge to become a fountain wall,
Trapping in and daring, daring.
To rush through the heavy beating wet
Or,
To stop, stand, stay…
To eye drink and clean breathe.
Until the eventual ebb.

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