A Passing Storm

A
Dark
Cloud is building,
Fattening in the
Summer heat, looming in the west
As the gusty winds intensify.

shimmer
hills as
green the softly
The sheep to bleat.
begin

The sheepdogs sense the danger in the darkening sky.

A flurry of precaution overtakes the rolling farms.
The sheep can not be trusted to avoid the higher ground.
For their own protection, they are locked away from harm.
A pagan pauses hiking, taking in the sights and sounds.

The sheep are soon collected by the dogs and men with crooks.
They bow their heads and follow without questioning or qualm.
To soothe their agitation, they hear stories read from books
that make them feel special, feel safe and keep them calm.

The sheltered sheep are hidden from the fury of the storm,
But do they know the glory that they’re also hidden from?

The ancient oaks now toss their heads and wrestle with the wind.
The roiling clouds now glower down with lightning flashing eyes.
With firmly rooted feet, the man feels strength flow from within
The earth that rises up to meet the darkly crashing skies.

The line of pelting rain advances, charging down the hill.
His hair is plastered to his neck. The wind ripples his shirt.
Although the storm is buffeting, he stands his ground until
The wind subsides, the rain departs, and calm returns to earth.

The sun heats wispy streams of fog that rise up from the ground
Like wraiths that have a fleeting chance to wander out to play.
The sheep, allowed to re-emerge, look cautiously around.
The pagan strides off to enjoy the crisply sunny day.