Midst a thunderstorm, I am most in awe of the world,

most powerless,

most insignificant.

Midst a thunderstorm, I am reminded of my humanity, my place, which is to say, no place at all.

The crack of thunder as Zeus’ rage splits the black above, I am on my knees.

Midst a thunderstorm, the creator’s work is at hand,

the dominoes culminating in a clash of hot and cold, black and white.

Midst a thunderstorm, I cower, in my home of straw and earth, my bed, my blanket, my arms,

waiting for the tempest to acknowledge the mark upon my door.

And yet, midst a thunderstorm I am the most alive;

Lay witness to the immense forces of the universe, incomprehensible power.

Following a thunderstorm, I am most calm,

most at peace,

most whole.

The storm comes to a close as all living things do, making way for the shimmering yellow brick roads to cascade from the golden gates, to welcome peace to the thirst filled masses below.

Following a thunderstorm, I am born again, rejuvenated and filled with a renewed love of life.

My breath held tight, my lungs brimming with anticipation for some ordained release, I sigh my fears away, relinquishing my worries to the abyss.

Following a thunderstorm, my world spins, my sun shines, my faith restored, my love,

my love for thunderstorms and the reminder of how truly small I am in the grand scheme of it all, it grows evermore.

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