Whirling

Whirling                                  

I hear it first, then feel it;
The cool rush and whirl of dry leaves
Spun up on errant zephyrs,
Dancing in the face of the onrushing storm.

The very air is transformed - green and thick
The weather wizards waving magic wands.
Hocus and Pocus and the first cold drops
Spatter against my forearms.

The dog pulls at her chain turning back toward home,
Knowing what's coming;
And puzzled that I seem not to,
She nips at my hand to pull me along.

Stubborn me, I step deliberately
Oh sure, I've turned for home, but still
It's only rain and thunder and I'm sure,
That I would not mind a wetting.

But for Daisy's sake I step it up,
The hush of rushing rain behind.
Then trees gasping overhead as we are doused
Two steps shy of the porch and shelter.

The dog shakes off the rain and frowns at me,
Before she comes to stand pressed tight
Against my leg to watch the storm.
I laugh and Daisy grins, safe and sort of dry.

© 2010 by Tom King