Morning Storm


The treetops sway fitfully,
Roused from their stillness.
Dark smudges brushing against bloated clouds,
An impenetrable white dome leaking the quicksilver
That prickles the lake in ghostly shimmers.
The rumbling growl of thunder,
The electric whipcrack snap of lightning,
The steady rush of silversteel rainfall.
Shrouded trees; swollen sky,
Bruising the rippled water.
A lone white form slices through the relentless torrent,
Braving flight in the cutting downpour.
A flash of brightness illuminating the gloom,
Perched on a slick-black tree
Jutting out of the disturbed water –

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