The Coming Storm

As a rabbit backs into a niche in the maple where surface roots provide a
shelter for some woodland passer-by, a glimpse of fur is seen vanishing into
another hollow trunk by lightning's light. Yellow eyes peer from a leafy nest,
high in an old elm. Watchful residents of the woods await nature's blessed
moisture brought on with wind and fury.
Late night. More lightning, far off in the west. So far away that the thunder
is not yet heard. Soon the breeze will pick up and come in waves; now more
intense, only to wane to half that, then start again. Scattered drops fall on
upturned leaves - subtle harbingers of the coming rain.
Small birds move closer to the trunks of their pine roost to avoid the sway of entwining branches. Through half-closed eyes they view their perch and soon slip into a restless drowse.

Then, " it " is here. " It " rains.

Phil Miller