After the Storm

Word Count 462/Line Count 36

After the storm, the streets are washed clean of the oil and grime and debris that inconspicuously covers them more and more each passing day.

After the storm, the skies begin to open and let blue peek through—ever so slowly, fluffy white, then azure blue replaces the stony gray.

After the storm, the runoff starts to recede, from the lakes and rivers to the culverts and ditches, the water finds a home in the waterways.

After the storm, things become fresh and new, shiny and clean, bright and green, brisk and blue, gone is all that is filth, the dirt, the decay.

After the storm, there are fresh beauties of all sorts, from posies to roses from pinks to yellows to reds to whites all to be gathered in a bouquet.

After the storm, the air is crisp and clean, as new sheets on the clothesline, waiting to be breathed in, absorbed, as if nature has now cleansed her airway.

After the storm, the hungry are out, searching for nutritious shoots and delicious leaves, they are out, but so are the others, looking for prey. It’s nature’s way.

After the storm, with clouds depleted of their water, disappearing into the vastness, night comes replete with stars and planets and every manor of the milky-way.

After the storm, children are allowed to dash and dart, splash and splish in the remains and to play in the mud and the clay.

After the storm, an awakening comes about, things peek out from their hiding place, the rabbit, the deer, the coon and the jay.

After the storm, the shutters are opened, the doors are unbolted, and life opens up renewed, allowing the sun to shine in the rest of the day.

After the storm, all nature comes about, flitting and flirting, sniffing and snorting, each acting as each, nature showing her best display.

After the storm, as the droplets dry, when the sun shines just right, there are rainbows to be seen, reminding of a promise underway.

After the storm, birds stretch their wings, riding air currents and warming their chilled bones, then sitting atop a tree to enjoy all they can survey.

After the storm, the breeze quiets down, trees gentle the wind, and leaves softly whisper kindness to the earth as the reeds sway.

After the storm, the electrified air dissipates, taking stranded electrons with it, so that once again the crispness is of cleanliness, not of electricity and fray.

After the storm, insects dance in the rays of the warming sun, drying their damp wings as they glide on streams of air, a fanciful ballet.

After the storm, all manner of kits and kittens, pups and puppies, foals and kids all jump joyously about, celebrating the end of the storm today.