through the storm

wrote this back in 2003

I remember,

When the night seemed

To welcome me in open arms.

When a light, airy breeze

Blew gently on my face;

Like a soft goodnight kiss

That a mother gives her child,

And the stars appear to shine

Like a diamond in the rough.

 

I close my eyes

And smell the aroma

That is carried on the wind.

The smells of a Mid-Autumn dream

Meet my nose, filling it

With the intoxicating fragrances

Of nut and fruit orchards,

Of pumpkin pies, nutmeg, and cloves.

 

I hear the cry

Of a bird of the night,

Hunting for a mouse

In the field across the road.

I also hear the roll of thunder,

Like a distant, muffled drum

That’s played in a funeral march.

 

The breeze soon hastens

to a sharp wind.

The air begins to chill;

I’m far from home

And a storm is coming in,

Fast, like a great cat

Chasing its prey ‘till it’s brought down.

I start my way home, barefoot,

Through the field,

Holding the package from town

To my chest,

The foxtails and thorns

Scratching my ankles and legs.

 

I feel a raindrop,

Cold, like ice, upon my face.

It starts to sprinkle lightly,

A shallow pitter-patter of water

Falling to the parched and cracked lips

Of the sun-beaten ground.

And the rustling weeds

Seem to sound like a

Hissing Rattler at my feet.

 

The rain is now coming down

Like sheets of glass.

The harsh drops stinging my face

Like a thousand air born needles.

My fingers and toes are numb,

The wrapping on the box is becoming

Like wet tissue paper,

Crumbling in my hands;

But I continue home.

And as I climb the last hill,

I see the faint glow of

Candlelight shining from

A small window of

The cottage where I live.

 

As I slip and slide

Down the slick trail, covered in

Weeds, thorns and mud,

I climb up the steps

And open the door,

To see my family

Waiting for me to return.

 

I am bathed and

Warmed by the fire,

With Fathers warm wool blanket

Wrapped in folds around me.

My scratches tended to,

And my supper brought to me.

I am home at last.

As my father sits down

In his large chair,

I rise and give him the package

I had gotten from town.

He pats me on the shoulder

And I return

To the warmth of the fire.