The rain splashes down on the skillet-hot pavement
steam rises from the street, making its own fog.
A sharp bolt of lightning, way too close,
followed by window rattling thunder crash.
Sunday afternoon, my back throbbing,
I lay exhausted, listening to the storm.
Wondering if the heat, the fire, the thunder
is coming from outside me or within.
I walk slowly to the door to look out again.
The sun is peeking around a cloud,
I see a coal black cat dash by.
It’s so quiet, I can hear the grass rustling.
I knew the answer anyway, I sigh.
The thunder in my soul will always
frighten away the storm outside.
beebeesworld 