Moisture in the air; the smell of rain.
The sky turns dark shades of gray.
Sitting on the front porch waiting;
thunderstorms on the way.
Squirrels scamper to their homes.
They know what's on the way.
A rabbit hops into its hole under a log.
The sun shows not a single ray.
A rumble is heard in the distance.
Faintly it's call it repeats.
Again and again, growing louder,
as the thunder trys out some new beats.
The first bolt of lightning reveals itself,
by shooting across the sky.
It transforms the dark into daylight.
Then it vanishes again on high.
A drop of rain falls on the mailbox.
Another one hits in the drive.
The few drops rapidly become a torrent.
The storm awakens. It is alive.
Lightning now dances in the sky;
powerful; majestic; inspiring.
The wind, wanting to join the concert,
shakes the tree branches, and starts to sing.
The thunderstorm's elements join forces.
A momentous show they put on.
The thunder roars. The lightning flashes.
The rain makes designs on the lawn.
As quickly as it started, it ends.
The first real rain of spring.
The storm searches for a new audience.
A rainbow emerges as king.
by CountryPoet ®
Spring Concert © January 19th, 2001