Watching from my front porch,
enjoying a glass of Syrah,
an afternoon storm from the west
crawls over the Huachuca Mountains,
appearing friendly and seemingly laid back.
Then surging over, gaining strength,
down the mountain like an avalanche,
ominous, dark blue-gray,
covering the eastern slopes
with clouds and sheets of rain.
It’s filled with amazing
and dangerous fragrances,
earthy and ancient,
the decayed and the living.
The jagged wow of lightning
cuts loose the blast of thunder
that lurches ahead of the storm,
rumbling over everything toward me,
awaiting its thudding arrival,
to see the ripples in my wine,
to feel with Earth its visceral,
percussive boom,
all the way to my bones.
From: After All the Years of Gravity
Unpub. MS p. 23
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