Summer Lightning

And in the far west, above Blue Mountains
obscured by the impenetrable haze
of a summer storm; late,
as dusk falls,
ribbons of lightning, luminescent
against the deeping dull of the bruised evening,
electrify a path acoss the torpid sky
in eerie silence.
                           Something wicked
this way comes, maybe.  Some portent
we may fear.  It fills the dark horizon
as we wait,  'til thunder,
endless moments later, breaks the tension;
making us, at once,
at ease
with familiar rhythyms
                         in sub-tropical storms.
This is not the end of days.
Not yet.