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Upending Torrents: A poem

Jan Bros writes about weather systems, hand wringing and freedom.

An active thunderstorm complex moved over Nebraska in the afternoon and evening hours. At the back of this system a lot of these so called `anvil crawlers` could be seen.

The Passover of the Jews was near, and Jesus went up to Jerusalem. In the temple, he found people selling cattle, sheep, and doves, and the money changers seated at their tables. Making a whip of cords, he drove all of them out of the temple, both the sheep and the cattle. He also poured out the coins of the money changers and overturned their tables. — John 2:13-15

I never know when you will show up.

Storm systems appear unpredictably
turning violent
in the sudden collision of hot and cold competing air.

Glimpsing the Western clouds
rolling and twirling in the sky above
I see the grey and white mixing it up
in a chaotic whirling rollick.

Light sparks
flashes
cracks
horizontally
zig zagging
in the dark atmosphere aloft
demanding a response.

Reverberating rumbling
low and loud
billowing with sudden intrusion
the answering voice echoes in the air
with the antiphonal spring-singing song of change.

The sky
rages outpour
alerting the pious to a frantic search
for church undercrofts
well-dug
hidden
in the earth below.

There
in avoidant fear
they stare
fixed
on the Weather Channel
flashing
with images of tired old men and perky young women
predicting
the path of precarious anxiety
pointing their fingers in definitive motion
toward charts and graphs
new numbers arriving
measuring
the coming
calamity.

Not me,

I pray.

Instead,

I turn

I face

I run

skipping

into the upending torrents
nose pointing to the sky
sniffing for your scent
as a dog
free
eagerly anticipating.

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