Stopping to smell the lightning
On the way home this evening, from my second meeting of the night and at the end of a full day, I stopped. It was a gorgeous evening, but as the clouds started to appear lightning flashed across the sky and grew more and more active and exciting over just a few minutes. I had to stop and just look - I sat there for half and hour waiting for each new burst to appear, for the sky to be lit up again. I thought I would try and write a poem - but settled for some prose instead...
Silent Lightning
It started orange, glimpses of sunset flung out of the sky landing left and right, each bolt giving the countryside around it a sudden burst of light. Skeletal fingers of fire chased each other through the clouds and then disappeared. Every now and then it looked as if the sky above the clouds was bursting in to flame.
As the now invisible sun dipped further and darkness fell, the flames that lit the sky were swapped for photoflash bursts of eye-numbing light. Falling to earth, or filling the sky the light drew attention, then forced it away as it seared the mind.
The air changed from the moist heaviness of the past days into a new fresh lung-filling joyful pure oxygen, no longer needing to be chewed before swallowing, or causing sweat to burst from every pore at the slightest movement. Deep breaths were rewarded with a new sense of being alive and awake in the midst of all this power.
Yet in all of this there was no sound. The thunder beyond reach, the wind low, no hint of rain. The clouds drifted majestically giving this violent scene a strange lack of urgency, as if the light was falling from the too-slow sky.
And until the rain came, it remained to be watched, causing breath to be held and eyes to be filled with too much light. With soul renewed and waiting for the rain to come, i stopped to smell the sweetness of the lightning.
It may not be good, but its a start. I'm sure it is just begging for a metaphor to be drawn from it, or made part of some allegory about life, or trite illustration of faith. No matter how my words may fail, though, the lightning speaks for itself.
Silent Lightning
It started orange, glimpses of sunset flung out of the sky landing left and right, each bolt giving the countryside around it a sudden burst of light. Skeletal fingers of fire chased each other through the clouds and then disappeared. Every now and then it looked as if the sky above the clouds was bursting in to flame.
As the now invisible sun dipped further and darkness fell, the flames that lit the sky were swapped for photoflash bursts of eye-numbing light. Falling to earth, or filling the sky the light drew attention, then forced it away as it seared the mind.
The air changed from the moist heaviness of the past days into a new fresh lung-filling joyful pure oxygen, no longer needing to be chewed before swallowing, or causing sweat to burst from every pore at the slightest movement. Deep breaths were rewarded with a new sense of being alive and awake in the midst of all this power.
Yet in all of this there was no sound. The thunder beyond reach, the wind low, no hint of rain. The clouds drifted majestically giving this violent scene a strange lack of urgency, as if the light was falling from the too-slow sky.
And until the rain came, it remained to be watched, causing breath to be held and eyes to be filled with too much light. With soul renewed and waiting for the rain to come, i stopped to smell the sweetness of the lightning.
It may not be good, but its a start. I'm sure it is just begging for a metaphor to be drawn from it, or made part of some allegory about life, or trite illustration of faith. No matter how my words may fail, though, the lightning speaks for itself.
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