The Storm Rages: a poem

It starts with a darkening, a lessening of blue as the grey gains the upper hand.

The sun retreats as her great rival approaches, not prepared to do battle today, not prepared for this fight.

Then the wind, a tornado descends, whirling the leaves from the ground.

The trees bend, their branches dragging trunks into unnatural poses, bowing to the greater force.

Rain starts softly, as if to trick you that you may escape the torrent to come.

Pitter-patter gains volume until water is being hurled from the raging black clouds of the storm.

Lightening cracks, thunder rolls, its voice at first distant, but creeping closer.

Until together they unite, overhead, a violent energy unleashed on the world.

As quickly as it starts, the storm is over, its energy spent, its rage subdued.

It creeps away, exhausted, leaving the gentle sound of summer rain to lull us to sleep.