Coffee, Porch, and a Perfect Storm

by P. Glenn

It was 5:30 a.m. Coffee brewing. Lightning cracked through the blinds. Thunder followed -close, loud, unexpected. I couldn’t help myself.

I grabbed a jacket, poured a cup, and stepped out to the back porch.

Summer storm. Metal roof. Birds waking. A soft beginning.

And then -
The storm changed.
Wind lifted. Rain hardened. Birds hushed.
The sky handed the baton from Beauty to Beast.

And I was just there. Breathing it in.
Not explaining. Not metaphorizing. Just being with it.

Wasn’t it beautiful? Wasn’t it beast?
I loved them both, though the beast a little less, if I’m honest.

Somewhere in the distance, a car crept along, wipers flapping, storm now obstacle.

But not here.
Not in this quiet thunder communion.

She sleeps through this one - my love, who would have loved it.
She’ll catch the next.
This one’s mine.