I miss southern summer storms,
deafening noise, blinding light.
You knowâ€”the ones with rolling thunder,
trailing white lightening in their wake,
sheets of rain falling like milk from the sky.
We were trembling children.
As we peered past drawn curtains,
the storm seemed unending,
but then poof! Like magic it would stop
leaving silence in the air.
Darkness would part for the sun. Birds sang.
All that remained of the storm
was puddles and leaves strewn across
the front porch. We’d step outside
into a golden light as though
God had scrubbed the world clean
just for us.
We would play until sun set
and lightening bugs came out
to dance with the stars.