We watched the sky,

complete in our expectations,

warmed by our togetherness,

centered in our predilections

and the storms rolled in.


The clouds built up,

tall towers above the southern hills,

great siege engines

turning black

and rolling down the valley

towards us.


We sat,


sipping our whiskey

and waiting patiently

while the wind picked up.


The Sun was blocked

and all the world

became festooned with darkness.


like an angry bruise,

but we didn’t fear the violence;

we expected it.


We sat

and watched the lightning play

and heard the thunder roll

and when the strikes got close,

we picked up our glasses

and went inside.


We put on an old movie

and listened

to the clash and clamour

and the driving wind.

It stopped sometime overnight.


After our morning coffee,

we strolled out to the garden

to see what,

if anything,

had survived the storm.


The trees were unbroken,

if bare of a few leaves

and the vegetable rows

had picked up some debris

that would require cleaning,

but the daffodils were broken.


Every stem snapped.

Too beautiful

and too delicate

for such a tumultuous night.


The casualties;

by fate or fortune

they lay down their yellow heads,

like soldiers,

who had died doing their duty.


We tried to stand a few,

but nothing doing.

The force of nature’s wrath

had been absolute

and there would be no saving.


We went back inside

and finished the breakfast dishes,

discussing what to do

with the flower garden.


We decided that we would just leave it,

wait and see what fills the space left,

now that the daffodils are gone.

Something will come up,

it is early yet in the season.

Maybe something beautiful.

Maybe more daffodils.


HG – 2017

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