It was the stormy season
On the west coast.
Brilliant flashes of lightning
Showed the promise of clouds with
Drops of rain that would
Give the parched land a welcome drink.
Forest Ranger Woodson, with eyes like a
Hawk peered through binoculars
To catch any drifting smoke
That would hint at trouble.
Round boulders stood out
Like full grown mushrooms
On a verdant lawn.
Thunder rumbled.
The ominous sounds echoed in the distance.
The enormous woods showed a
Kaleidoscope of colors
Of nature in her continual waiting
To get better, after her drink of water
Or the destruction from lightning’s work
Begun a scorching spear of flame.
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