Storm

Hello Again. I am fully aware that no one is reading this, but for some reason, I feel like I am doing something by writing it anyway. Right now, it is storming outside. The sirens are blaring, and I am sitting in my favorite chair, Macbook in lap, and hot tea in hand. I feel like I have the perfect scenario to write a poem or a short story, but sadly, my mind seems to be blank in that particular category. So, instead, I will write about poetry. I tend to see most poetry as songs not yet placed to music. I love to read the lines and imagine what the writer may have been seeing or thinking about or feeling when he/she wrote the poem.

Well, I just got back to my computer, my tea is cold, and I don't feel like writing poetry anymore. Evidently, the sirens blaring was more than just a thunderstorm warning; it was a tornado warning. In pouring rain and severe wind, I had to run out to the van of my friends to go to a safe room at another friend's house. Nothing happened, and now I am home. But, in my fluster of excitement, somehow I lost my need to be poetic. Sad day. I think my story or poem right now would start something like, "It was a dark and stormy night..."

Quote of the Day:A few minutes ago every tree was excited, bowing to the roaring storm, waving, swirling, tossing their branches in glorious enthusiasm like worship. But though to the outer ear these trees are now silent, their songs never cease. ~John Muir

BB.