Surrender - Aug 10 2021

 

Surrender

Aug 10 2021

It begins

with a special weather statement

cause for concern.

Then escalates

to advisory, watch, alert.

Until, in red, a warning flashes

of hail, lightning

tornado hazard.

Shelter in place, it says

danger's in the air.

Leaves whip from the trees.

The wind rises,

a menacing darkness descends,

the sky turns an ominous green.

And then

a sudden eerie calm

as if the world was holding its breath.

What comes next, I wonder,

the end of times?

Or an exhilarating storm

that washes the world clean?

So why do I stand at the window and watch

rather than hunker down?

Could it be Nature's utter indifference

the liberating loss of control,

her overwhelming power

and how small it makes me feel?

Lightning cracks the sky,

and in the frozen strobe

of its bleached white light

the city seems eternally still,

a tableau

of life before the storm

changed everything.

I was planning to drive into town today, but noticed there was a weather warning, down-graded later to watch. I didn't need my car battered and dented by hail, so decided there was no reason not to put it off until tomorrow. And in the freed-up time, thought it might be fun to see if there was a poem to be found in the vocabulary of storm warnings. This is what came of it.