10 Miles in No Time - Oct 5 2023

 

10 Miles in No Time

Oct 5 2023

So I looked it up.

10 miles is all,

the distance between

lightning and me

when there is no sound.

I counted the seconds, waiting expectantly

but the thunder never came,

and the feeling of something incomplete

was overwhelming;

all that energy

building-up

and barely contained

coming this way.

A fitful wind swirled.

A chill descended.

And overhead, the sky darkened

the blackest blue.

A big anvil cloud

that seemed lit from within

was bearing down,

lightning flashing

across the sky.

And in the eerie quiet

I stood frozen

in the strobe-like bursts,

my skin a ghostly white

in the cold electric light.

You'd think sound would travel hundreds of miles,

that silence was safety

and I could watch detached;

a bystander

to a spectacular show,

protected by distance

and nature's indifference

to something so small.

Which is how we've grown accustomed

to navigating life,

watching on screens,

exempt from time,

and hiding behind

a gauze of anonymity.

Or like the witness

to a mass shooting

who looks on paralyzed,

something so unexpected

he fails to act.

The bystander

we're quick to judge

after the fact,

who could have intervened

but simply stood.

But now

I was small

exposed

and had no control;

10 miles

in no time at all

at the speed of light.

Like the muzzle flash

and impact

before you hear the gun,

the sight of blood

before you feel it,

lightning comes

out of a soundless sky

just like that.