Beneath a gray and dark'ning autumn sky
The Midwest tempest blows an angry rain
As chirping squirrels scramble to stay dry
And flailing branches wave in silent pain.
The warning sirens sound tornado's call,
And people scurry down like frightened mice
To safety — so they hope — from this great squall,
Heeding television's scant advice.
They cower there with worry and in fear,
Just hoping for the twister to abate.
In deaf'ning darkness — wind is all they hear —
They sit and wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.
Thoughts of sunny days prove little balm,
Surviving through the storm before the calm.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
The Storm Before the Calm, a Sonnet
This morning's storm seemed to be in a big hurry to get to Ohio, so it didn't last horribly long. But still, to people who don't like storms (I'm not one of them), this must have been a tense time.