It's the thunder I hear,
the rain beating on my windows.
The wind rattles the whole world
and what's that I hear?
The scream of a wounded animal,
a sad human,
or both.
The river is flooding and
the mountain is groaning
under its own weight.
The cold snaps saplings in two
while the blooming flowers
shiver and and shrivel down.
A flash of light
and the whip-crack of thunder,
the air is heavy,
expectant,
expecting.
Stubbing out my last smoke,
not knowing what will come next,
be it snow, rain, hail, or
perhaps even the apocalypse.
I shrug and pour myself
another drink,
thinking that if today's the day,
then, well, hell:
so be it.
