Storm Catcher

Watching the cerulean blue sky darken through grey to black.
Clouds gathering. Wind lifting. Trees bending.
The sudden stillness of sound and air.
The smell of a storm rising.
The bird song ceasing, the rustle of the wind in the trees falling silent
Nature holds it’s breath, waiting for the cloud tears to fall
The storm, when it broke, all noise and light.
Ferocious in it’s intensity, stunningly magical
The eruption of thunder and streaks of lightning, rending the sky asunder, rumbling
The weeping, at first tiny droplets of sorrow,
Gently landing as a caress to the dry earth,
Growing in size to land as great juicy globules,
Slow enough to be caught on her tongue
Soon gathering speed, stronger and larger, soaking, penetrating to the skin
Her hair heavy with the rain, face streaked with cloud tears
Her clothes clinging to her, sodden and useless
The Storm Catchers face turned upwards, arms outstretched
Gathering the force of the storm to her, clasping it to her heart
Her feet dancing, revelling in the feel of the rain enveloping her
Feeling the wind gathering, pushing the clouds away
Bringing calm to the landscape, to the Storm Catchers soul.

Copyright © 2015 The Kentish Lass

Leave a Reply