April 17 - East Texas Storms

East Texas Storms

Eight years and still when I step outside
I look to the southwest first to check the weather,
Half-expecting to feel a cool damp gust of wind
On my face; in my nose the slightly acrid tang of ozone
And dark clouds rising up along the horizon in that direction.
Flashes, sheets of light high up at first, until you start to see,
Ragged searing shafts of light crashing down upon the Earth.
Sometimes Earth fires back.  Blue white bolts of fire,
Streaking skyward. Setting clouds alight.
This afternoon I sat for a time out on the porch,
Watching fat, gray dull clouds roll up from the west
And the sea and over the thick stands of fir;
Across the volcanic plain at the foot of 14,000 feet of rubble,
Rock and snow. You'd think there'd be some noise.
But instead, unlike an East Texas storm, these northwest storms
Tend to be silent, well-behaved, to deaden the air.
Announcing themselves with a soft whoosh of falling rain.
I miss the rowdy storms of home. I really do.
Weather should be an adventure. Snow should whistle and howl.
Rain should lash and thunder. I do. I miss it. Even the thrill 
Of terror when the dark shape of a tornado skulks past
At a distance, silhouetted against the flashing cloud banks.
It is in the clean, damp silence when the storms have passed,
That you remember to breathe and you feel most alive.



© 2019 by Tom King