Ice Storm of Halloween Night

Photo by erin mckenna

As iced-rain pelted against darkened glassed pane,

scarcely preparing minds-eye for morning’s sight,

as creaks, snaps, cracklings rent the consciousness

to envision the fractured members of stately timbers;

the morning’s find only half predicted.

The other half of that conscious cerebrum,

feeling,

seeing,

disbelieving,

is astounded, upon November’s first morning light,

by the multitudes of brittle, weighted breaks.

Unpowered conveniences

obliterated by nature’s disgorge of tortured masses

isolates,

incapacitates,

imperils,

leaving a sense of helplessness that cannot be assuaged.

Not alone in destruction’s wake; 

so many needful of respite,

escape,

repair,

return of routine,

all sharing in knowledge that this nightmare

is not over,

But,

Looking out through penal bars of glistening skeletal protrusions,

dangling,

surrounding,

reaching out for deliverance,

I feel an awe of nature’s tricks,

a beauty in this iced perdition,

yet a sadness for perished nobility.

And even tho I feel a verity of certainty,

as cold slips silently through the marrow,

that I stand watching this not alone—

this common communion;

still, I’ve never felt so very much

alone.

Photo by J. Sharland Day