Road side trees look stunned,
arms hanging limply at their sides,
staring mournfully at leaves and branches torn off,
flung into puddles during the furious dance
so enthusiastically performed
just moments before.
New born puddles, still rippled with confusion
of rain drops just arrived,
flung through charged space
they now clinging together,
settling slowly into smooth-surfaced calm.
People reappear with eyes on grey sky -
sky stares blankly back,
with an innocent, ‘I don’t know where that came from’ look.
Air is stunned into silence,
sense of hearing over-sensitive
after the assault of thunder
and wind cracked branches.
Wind has torn away straw and leaves and paper
and wet stuck them in odd places,
posters face down in roadside puddles,
straw in angular patterns across roads
signaling the recent disagreement
between wind and water.
A chicken clucks inelegantly
across a blinking puddle,
a nervous tic.
Goats move out of their tight formation,
giving up their positions at centre
of backs-to-prevailing-wind groups.
watch shrewdly from twisted wires and branches -
profiteers looking for opportunity in chaos.
With a tremble and a shake
normality returns -
slightly hung-over, but strangely satisfied.