Thunder crosses my mind
As the rain pelts my brow
What was the point, anyway?
Scurrying back and forth
The thunder stops me
I lift my face to the darkened clouds
And let the rain wash away the angst
Cooled, and refreshed
I listen to the rumble in the distance
I see the clouds break,
Allowing the last rays of sun to bleed through
The day, in retrospect
Washed away some of the dirt
And nourished the life that it fell on.
By Deborah E. Dayen
Image from Cindy Adkins via Google Images