The storm is watching over me

A thunder storm is coming.
A gentle breeze caresses
the window curtains.
A breeze scented with life
of rain,
of things green.
The voice of the storm
is a Wagner aria,
a clash of steel,
a Teutonic giant,
demanding the land.
When its lightning flashes,
you can see the monsters,
hiding,
in the night sky.
Towering mountains of clouds,
rolling,
undulating,
held aloft
by branches,
of pulsing light.
I feel the power in the storm,
it soothes me
with its force,
its guardianship.
I sleep peacefully
knowing,
the storm is watching over me.

Copyright: 2009, Donald Harbour