This is a storm with a voice

Not all are, you know, but

This one groans and whispers and screams;

It gutters almost to silence

So you stop to strain to listen …

In the hope it has moved on.

And then, like an ancient orator

Who knows he has your full attention

Might do,

It roars back full-throated

Joined by the chorus of aching tree trunks

Bent in ways they’d rather not see.

This voice cries out, not in,

But to make a wilderness.

The silence, though frozen brittle,

Will be solace.

JPM 1.14.18

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