I have always loved storms. Even when they cause flickers on the teevee and knock out the power. Recently we have all been both mesmerized and sorrowed by the storm that hit Camp Mystic and other sites along the Guadalupe River in Texas. Yesterday evening thunder rolled over Madison for what seemed like hours - it started as I lay down for a nap and was still growling when I woke up. There were tornado warniings. But that's what I love about storms. They promise a challenge, possible danger to provide against. Call the children home. Get the animals in. Close the windows and bar the doors. Put the kettle on.
I wrote this poem years ago as I stood on the back porch of my farm house in Door County, Wisconsin.
June 24, 1977
There is rain moving in.
I can see the storm clouds
Moving in from the north and west
And feel the wind coming up
With threat and thunder.Wet air comes,
Blowing sweet and cool across my cheek.
A wonder of a sky-blown river.What’s left of bright and blue
Slips down the southeast sky.
Scattered pearl-drops spot the porch around my feet, and
I’ll have to turn the lights on in the house
When I go back inside.