PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Ten o’clock in the evening and I’m clinging to routine.

I take my bicycle and my dog and set off on one our long accustomed routes.

Five miles, between the flooded fields and the overflowing streams.

In the summer that wasn’t.

The night is beautiful, the moon bright and three quarters full,

Peering from behind a few shreds of cloud,

Remnants of the storm, which still rumbles to the north east.  

The air is rain-washed, clear and cool.

Far to the south west, in the Sauerland or perhaps distant Rhineland,

I see the lightning flashes of the next storm.

My dog loves the water, the mud, the clear air.

I cycle five miles, as he runs fifteen.

It is a tired, muddy and happy dog who finds his bed.

Normality!

I hold the thought tightly.

I look in on the twins,

Who, as is often the case, have both fallen asleep in the same bed.

My daughter sleeps, with her face in the book she was reading aloud to her brother.

Harry Potter.

I turn off the bedside light and stand before our bedroom door.

Inside the storm is raging,

I can hear my wife’s sobbing, weeping for her dead son.

I take a deep breath and step back into the tempest.

For in “Hurricane Loss” the distance between the eye

And the eye wall,

Is a memory!