Distant grumbles, beyond the hills
Whispered tumbled chants Gregorian
Beyond the fields where Meadow sweet grows
Long past the bull rush tall – sentinel by the river bank rows.
The occasional flash on the horizon
Deep in the slate grey sky
Heralded the heavy charged air
Large anvil shaped cloud.
Rain spotted before the full deluge
Storm in its magnificent malignant glory
Lightning, before thunderous reverberating claps
Streaks downward in its jagged fearful dance.
To move ever onward
Over country and county alike
The earth refreshed
Sweet smell of this marvelous world.

(Mike)