Where lives the Thunder
That beast we never see
Whose roaring trembles
Even the Sky-King?
Somewhere above the horizon
Is my guess
At the end of the wheat field.
Sometimes…
When his ominous rumblings
Make Mother Earth shudder
I run outside to the barn.
There, in the tired building
I climb up high
Toward the playful fingertips
Of the wind.
I used to hide, in fright
But no longer.
I hide to catch him off guard
Hoping to see him
As he makes a grand entrance.
I am sure of this
As sure as every breath
I catch in anticipation.
One summer day
As I sat on the strained rafters
Listening to the whippoorwills gentle song
I felt the barn heave a sigh.
Dangerously it creaked beneath me
Changing the kant of its stand.
The voice of Mother groaned
And the wind slapped at my face
As the Sky-King hid his golden treasure.
The Dark Ones gaze was a
Somber shadow brooding over the land.
I knew then
Even as my heart raced with fear
The beast, Thunder, would show himself.
Clinging to the rafters,
For the wind meant to unseat me,
I studied the horizon.
The Dark One paced imperiously
And the Sky-King threw forth
Magnificent bolts of precious light.
Mother Earth shuddered
At the foreboding rumbles
And her children bent closer
Brought down by angered wind.
The horizon was yet clear
Drifting above an odd light;
Not quite fire
Not quite pearl
It glowed fiercely
Causing the Dark One to bow down.
Then came the voice of the Beast
A roar and a crack as I’d never heard.
It grasped my soul
Causing me to cry out.
Then… I saw him…
The Beast…
Yet I saw now animal-like beast.
Thunder was a creation of strength
A god-king of gothic beauty
That shamed the Sky-King and his brother, the Dark One.
In rich garb
Of colors beyond dark and light,
Thunder strode over the field.
His direction was the barn
That screeched and groaned
At every footfall.
I was beyond fear.
It had fled from me
And though the wind
Still meant to tear me from my perch,
I stood, recklessly,
Upon the rafters.
I would greet his magnificence,
Mortal to god-king.
When he came to the barn
It sighed one last breath
Collapsing in upon itself.
I was certain to be lost
Falling
But, I was caught up
By the very wind that beat against me,
And plucked out of it
By Thunder himself.
My death was certainly written
For I was no more than a seed
Upon the palm of his hand.
Before I closed my eyes
To accept my fate
I looked up into the mighty face.
Instead of anger
At what I’d seen
I beheld a smile
As gentle as that
Of a proud parent.
Though his voice was still
The wind continued its lashing gait
Across the quiet land.
Raising his other hand
The wind obeyed
Laying to rest upon the shoulders
Of the Sky-King
And the Dark One.
All was still and silent.
The god-king set me down
Safe upon the dirt road.
I whispered my gratitude.
Thunder’s smile widened
His voice rumbled gently,
“Child, you’ve caught a legend.
Take you home
And when you hear my voice,
Know that I speak to you.
Listen well, Child,
For I shall have many tales to tell.”
And, then he laughed…
Mother Earth trembled…
The wind rose up and blew strong…
The Dark One scowled…
And the Sky-king threw his bolts.
I ran down the raod
Laughing my joy
As the storm raged over my head.
I knew Thunder
as god-king and storyteller.
I would listen
I promised,
To every tale.
…And I would remember.
August 25, 1987
Tags: Poetry
