Painting by Cash GarrisonMUSIC OF THE STORM
In the hollow of the mountain,
thunder booms and reverberates
like the sound of kettledrums,
- rising and falling -
resonating over the maidenhair
ferns and wild orchids,
blowing chaotically in the wind.
Searing flashes separate
darkness from light,
and, for a split second, we
see the crown of the mountain
looming high above us,
and below us the bright
rush of the creek water.
In the explosion of light,
the tall pitch pines seem
newly created – then,
quick to disappear again,
they leave us only with
their brilliant negatives.
Our faces press the windowpane
to feel the notes of the rain
and the percussion of thunder
- a crescendo -
exhilarating, yet, terrifying.
As the storm passes,
we listen to the eerie melody
rumbling down the corridor
of Appalachian rock
in a haunting echo.
Deep in our sleep, we dream
about the music of the storm.
We remember being a drop of rain
in the torrent – becoming one
with this primitive world,
still in the making.
