Lori Grosser Rhoden
Member Rara Avis
Fair to middlin'
The rain came gentle as a loverís whisper
so soft as not to bend a blade of grass.
The light mist kissed the ground teasingly
as the thunder rumbled by suggestively.
The wind came blowing up the tree skirts
calling down big drops to dot the sidewalks.
Branches bounce in joyous expectation
of a drenching as the clouds cut loose.
Torrents of rain pound the ground.
Water shoots out down spouts
and off porch awnings unleashed.
Lightning lashes out
and thunder is quick to respond.
The downpour seduced the ravaging heat
into the sweet breath of coolness.
Then the rain stopped like a lover spurned.
The precipitation was just penetrating
the parched dirt as it did.
The ground all but gasped
Birds dropped down from the trees
to look for worms come to the surface
as the thunder continued to rumble.
The northern sky dressed in gray,
appears to have more where that came from.
And right on time for fashionably late,
the storm makes an entrance.
The pelting rain is pummeling the ground
with a watery massage
and the low thunder sounds like moans of pleasure.
As the winds have their way with the water,
the soil sucks up its life blood.
The transfusion comes in torrents.
The storm had been invited to spend the night
but left early instead.
She had stayed just long enough to allow others
to avoid the kiss of death
and to suck the life out of the heat wave.
She rolled on along her merry way
on the arm of thunder
with a little lightning in her sashay.