Morning after Ian

It’s early morning.
Ian’s tail is in the distant horizon,
On its onward Caribbean pilgrimage.

Ian unlocked the vaults of heaven,
With a cavalcade of water
Caressing and slapping the face of the earth.

The morning is now incredibly silent,
The orchestral sound of birds silent,
Few fine-tuning their vocal cords.

Leaves of trees like statues
Dripping with remnant water,
Overwhelmed by hours of thunderous falling water.

Human skin senses the morning cool,
Summer’s heat jailed by Ian’s passing.
Morning rubbishes any thought of bail.

Clouds like canopy
Refusing the sun’s demand
To appear for morning’s duty.

Water carpets the land
Resting comfortably in bed,
Covering earth with its gelatinous blanket.

Some welcome Ian with open arms
As an aplomb to a stormy life,
Others cheering his destructive departure
As he disrupts, disturbs, and destroys.

But nature’s contradiction
Holds on to one gift,
The gift of peaceful equanimity,
Like the eye of the hurricane,
To navigate roller coaster living.

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