Windfall

Changes in atmospheric pressures

drive the clouds west

and the light of the estranged Sun

reveals the damage

left by an errant

summer storm.

 

Broken fences,

felled trees,

frayed nerves

and you.

 

A world

now bright and hot,

becomes humid.

Sweaty, sticky bodies

fix the neighbor’s roof.

Replacing missing shingles.

Each unable, or unwilling

to meet each other’s gaze.

The storm has broken more

than fauna and fixtures.

 

We got off pretty light.

No damage to the house

and I only had to take down

that little

shallow-rooted one,

but all I can see

are the broken fences,

felled trees,

frayed nerves

and you.

 

The flooding

stayed localized.

Frantic and bitter men

swarmed over the hardware stores

like picnic ants.

Frantic to prepare

for what had already happened.

They stood in line

waiting to pay

for new sump pumps

and lengths of pipe,

guilty and shamed.

These were the lucky ones.

 

An hour west,

a whole town is underwater

and another cut off,

when the highway washed away.

Those people know real hardship.

 

Somehow,

in the midst of it all,

my home is intact and dry.

We have food

and plenty of fresh water.

The fear and the guilt

and the panic,

blew over us.

 

I am at peace

and as I look around

I can see,

broken fences

that can be mended,

felled trees

that can be cleared,

frayed nerves

that can be soothed

and you;

the reason I am prepared

for the storm.

 

HG – 2016

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