Waiting for the Storm

Incessant wind, howling over exterior walls. Treetop branches bent to cruel angles, don’t fall. Passing car.. heavy beat… otherwise the street is bare, save for the eerie atmosphere.

Lone dove coo’ing on my window sill… 8.30pm.. doesn’t seem right, on this strange, moonless spring night.

Now the wind is much louder and I can’t help but wonder at the shadows of crazed branches, thrashing the ceiling above my bed.

Taking in the moonlit floor, I turn to look outside and see the tail-lights of an enormous, night-cloaked jet, screeching away from shore.

I feel you coming, South, to the bay. Come, make your way. I'm not scared. I'm waiting. Come, close the distance. Soft licks of air, cool fingers. Come.

I breathe you, taking velvet steps toward you, like a cat. I'm here where you can see me, here where you can have me, and I feel you coming... and the clouds roll up beneath us and thundering, you roar.... smashing open the sky and even heaven is crying as we shake the last hours from this day and feel our rain of tears disappear as they fall.