Poetry by Ynab

Calmed

There's something about nature,
calmed before a storm begins.
First, there is the frequent consult amongst us,
looking to the skies in search of a clock hidden from sight.
A clock in the clouds telling us it's almost time.

Then the flurry of activity follows.
There are traffic jams, both of people and of vehicles.
Everyone wanting to get home,
be home,
as the flurries let down their load.

Next comes the calm.
The air does not move.
Temperatures start to drop before the final stage.
Tuck in your scarves people,
It is time to get a move on.

Then the wind starts to blow,
and I step out to feel it.
I can hear it whistle past me.
I come alive.
With the first sniff of wet earth smell in the wind.

The howl blows my senses apart.
I dance like an idiot to fool's gold.
And just before the rain comes down,
I make a dash for the clothlines and unhang what was left out to dry.

When the rain pours down,
I watch it behind my window,
tucked into a warm jacket,
while holding a cup of tea.

I can't help but marvel.
I can't help but marvel at such beauty,
and rawness.
Mother Nature is a lovely being.

Her child rain is beautiful