Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

for some it is
the Moon’s occultation of Saturn or
the needle strikes of Perseids across a spangled sky
that speeds their heart
but for me it is
a late summer evening when
the world is parchment
I step out onto the front stoop while the wind
swollen with the scent of moisture
shakes out the carpets of August
sending heat-baked dust over distant hills
the stars take the night off as
the clouds drop down
so close I can
smell them touch them feel them seeping into my skin and
the air thicks with promise until
a flash sparks fire miles above
lighting the jumbled sky
I know it is coming I know the treat is coming
the respite from dry weeks sere days withered leaves but
it takes its time walking not running toward my eagerness
teasing me with coming attractions so mesmerizing that
when the rain begins I am surprised
it is so strong so hard so heavy that
my mind wonders about the terminal velocity of a raindrop the size of a pea and
if the drops fall as spheres or are deformed by their earthward plunge and
bang
the storm is here has crossed the ridge is overhead
its flares of light draw inward focus concentrate spin themselves into jagged threads
neighbors come out from barbecues and movie nights to
look up
exclaim at the brilliance
gasp at claps that slap their cheeks
laughing in sheer childish joy at the power of the moment and
in that moment the magic of our world ushers us into its realm
we feel a part of it enjoy it for exactly what it is
the raw audacity of it the confidence as if nothing can stand against it and survive
it is intoxicating and I am drunk with it all
happily consumed and consuming
a tiny mote in the vastness
just me
alone on the front stoop
watching nature play its greatest anthem while
I hum along with the familiar tune
that’s what does it
for me

Photo: Tim Durkan Photography

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