Night sky in the day time
Relief after the storm
when rain washes the sky clear
grit and grain
Awake to a sense of purity:
tensions resolved, static removed,
Bewildered at the streaks,
paint trailing at the bottom of a dome
See as you have never seen,
Darkly, though no longer through a glass.
Who knew the stars
Clustered, staring, unblinking
Who knew the sky is a face?
The earth at your feet is a mouth,
full of teeth.
(with a nod to Laird Barron)
I miss Sydney thunderstorms – the urgent, commanding nature of weather that demands your full attention, slamming the skies, shaking your house. The cosy thrill / of knowing it can kill / while you are safe (-ish) indoors. And then afterwards, the air is clear and clean and everyone and everything can breathe so very deeply. Not like this monotonous seasons long European grey that wears you down until you are dead but you don’t realise. Dramatic much?
Twice we have heard thunderclaps here. Single individual booms. We waited, happy, ready for the follow up. Though it never came, we spoke about those thunder claps for days afterwards.