The air grows heavy, still, and strangely deep,
While ancient shadows from the horizon creep.
A sudden shiver runs through every leaf,
The warning of a chaos, sharp and brief.
Then comes the wind, a wild and ghostly cry,
That tears the silver curtains from the sky.
It whips the dust into a spinning dance,
And puts the trembling trees into a trance.
A jagged crack of white and blinding light,
Divides the belly of the sudden night.
The thunder follows with a heavy boom,
A drum of war within the purple gloom.
The rain descends in sheets of liquid steel,
To make the thirsty, dusty gardens kneel.
It hammers on the roof with rhythmic might,
A symphony of terror and delight.
The rivers swell and spill across the sand,
As water claims the dry and weary land.
The windows rattle in their wooden frames,
While lightning writes the storm's eternal names.
But in the heart of all the crashing sound,
A strange and wild beauty can be found.
For when the clouds have cried their final tear,
The world emerges bright and crystal clear.