On occa­sion, the poetic spirit take my fancy.  This is just such an occasion.

First a flash, a sear­ing bolt,

Fiercely flick­er­ing between white and black

Then, the crash, res­onat­ing to bone,

Fol­lowed by the thou­sand pound­ing ham­mers of hail,

And then the down­pour, the bib­li­cal flood, soak­ing the dry earth,

and then… silence.

Lin­ger­ing droplets, gen­tle as a zephyr, persist.

A moment of refrac­tion, nature’s prism, cre­ates a faint band of colors,

The calm after the storm.