Willing the Storm

One summer dusk I floated in the swimming pool as billowing
            black thunderheads glowered on every horizon, spitting
                        lightning at the earth as night gathered beyond
                                    them. I willed the monsoon
                        to come to me—my garden needed rain—but
                                    slowly, so I could enjoy a little longer
            the gorgeous electricity scorching the sky even
                        as I lay immersed in the element that
                                    could conduct that lethal
                                    lightning right to my heart
                                                and halt it.

When the wind picked up, I went inside. Soon torrents
            beat my roof, poured from my eaves, softened my soil,
                        cooled my air. The rain and thunder sang
                                    me to sleep. They were gone when I
                        awoke, the sky cleansed, even as
                                    detritus littered the earth, power lines
                                                downed and my favorite massive tree
                                                            uprooted.

All my life I’ve been ordered out of pools the moment a storm
            is visible, someone declaring the lightning too lethal
                        no matter the distance, insisting I can’t possibly
                                    judge how fast a storm travels,
                        forbidding me to imitate the thunder,
            proclaiming that I dare not put myself at risk
                        just to admire nature’s dangerous elemental beauty.
                                    As if assessing my proximity to danger weren’t
                                                something I do every hour,
                                                            every day.

So I keep willing storms into my life. Not that I imagine
            I control them; but I admire their force,
                        I respect their inevitability; I’m grateful
                                    for what they replenish. I clean up
                        after them as I must and hope the damage
                                    is not too dear, the price for
            what is green upon the earth
                        and clean in the air,
                                    this beauty that threatens us,
            this beauty that doesn’t know we’re here.