The Storm

We walked through fields
of long green stems
that brushed against our chests
talking about the storm
and all the might have
could have been-s.
When we came to the clearing with the old oak
we lie on our backs watching a slow wind push leaves
and flickers of light brushed against our faces.
We waited.

Back the way we had come
a thick black cloud followed.
We could see the rain falling from its bottom
and the flashes of lightning arcing within.
It had been following us for days

We thought that eventually the thing
would relent
let us rest for longer than a couple hours at a time.
But it followed
always lingering.

So eventually
we returned to walking
talking about all the could be-s
and the what if-s.

In front of us
the horizon was a clear blue
over a line of trees at the end of the green fields
not a blemish
not a hint of the world behind
not even a glimpse of its shadow.


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