Timing Lightning
July 27 2008


I timed the lightning.
A jagged flash,
as lamps flicker and speakers fizz
counting up ...
to the unholy crash
— flinching at thunder,
despite myself.

The storm is moving fast —
rain
like heaven opening,
and wind
like the wrath of God.
And just as sudden, the torrent stops
— torn leaves and scattered branches
and a whiff of ozone,
electric
in the muggy air.

The big spruce is down.
The wind
snapping its trunk like an after-thought;
the stump splintered, ripped.
It lies at an angle
resting lightly on the trees around it.
As if they had opened their arms, catching it
gentling it down,
showing respect for this majestic survivor
when its time had finally come.

A worthy ending
for such a fine old tree.
Instead of chainsaws, in its prime.
Or beetles, taking their time;
killing
from the inside out.