The Lull Before the Storm

It is the rolling thunder,

it is coming over me.

The waves rise, imperceptibly, they rise, and rise, not a threat or so it seems. It is like looking on in fascination as your hopes and dreams are washed away, washed persistently away.

You hold no more power than the wooden fence cracking along it's beams, the great whirlwind traverses its trail, shattering once sturdy dreams.

The calm before the storm, deceptive silence, eerie light. Stray breezes play with the leaves and somehow you know its not right.

Silence, anticipation, nervous fascination

a storm is coming

I calmly clean the kitchen, aware of the threat, I understand

Yet all I can do is look on in fascination as the waves rise.

I hold no more power than the twisted gnarled tree that met its fate in its battle with the whirlwind.

I am tied to the railroad tracks, the train is moving slowly but I know it is coming.

In a daze, a slow kind of apathy I walk out to meet the storm.

The breezes dance along the ground, carrying leaves and garbage, no animals are in sight.

The winds are increasing I am watching from my front porch as the sky is darkened and the thunder rolls. Branches slap against the house, and pop cans rattle down the street, mother natures angry defiance against the scars upon her face.

Awake, finally, awake I rush about closing the windows new energy ensues.

Would that I could rush like this during the lull.

Have you ever stared into the future and known what was coming, yet stood, powerless to prevent it?