After the Storm

 

The smoky cumuli escort a troupe

of scowlish masses from the thund'rous brawl

as calligraphic swirls of starlings swoop

around the grayish pillars of the squall.

 

I breathe the aftermath of tickly mist

with teasing calls to feisty forest sprites

returned to foraging, the minutes missed

igniting fever in their appetites.

 

A gurgling ripple on a fallen limb

entices me with crooked fingers stretched

across a darkish stream; a leafy hymn

accompanies the ghostly image etched

upon a dampened palette far below

the blackness of the heavenly tableau.