Before The storm

Before The Storm


Deep silence except for a fly that keeps bumping
its head against the window, but when I open it
the dipterous takes fright flies off and walks on
the ceiling, wish I could do that

Trees stand, unmoving, as petrified, there no birds
fly about, we are in the eye of a storm and when it
does shift and hit the oldest ones will be uprooted
and many others will lose limbs and leaves

I open the window; give the fly its last chance to
seek freedom, before I put shutters on and hunker
down, but it refuses to come down so I do nothing
but keep a rolled up newspaper ready to swat it.