Lightening Bolt

Silent from this vantage point
far-distant from the very source,
the towering cause and heaven-sent
effect of lightening in the night,
it rips apart those heavy clouds
of brooding storms not yet upon us
but moving almost imperceptibly,
inexorably in this direction.

It bursts into our consciousness,
ripping through the sullen mantle
spreading now before my awe-struck
eyes, drawn towards the false horizon
where great Cumulonimbus columns
(angry-looking but indifferent, as all
wild weather must, at all times, be)
impose themselves above our heads.

No more and never less than weather
unleashed on us by laws of physics
and the ways of nature in our midst
to make us wonder at the sight: as if
the might of some celestial leader
of the cosmic paparazzi pack were
chasing stars and A-list Titans clashing
on the lower slopes of Mount Olympus.

(I've been watching the second storm of today forming in the sky far west of the window of my study in the Ashfield flat. These words came to me.

And now the storm is overhead. We're in the thick of it: rain and wind and lightening all around the building, terrific sounds of thunder drowning out the passing trains. It's wonderful to watch but one is thankful of the warmth and peace of sitting in the house and looking out.)
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