The path is clear, but dark clouds linger
Air feels sticky, and the smell of moisture
Hangs heavy above the treeless land.
The veiling darkness parts for a moment
A flash of light, which then is gone.
No sound, save the beat of my heart
Strong and steady like a drum.
One...two...three... then the silence breaks
A thunderous clap, which portends trouble.
My feet move with purpose, for the rolling hills
Provide no shelter from the coming storm.
Another bright lance pierces the sky
But now two beats, before the bang.
Upon my brow, I feel a drop
Soon more will fall, like autumn leaves.
My pace then quickens, my eyes do lance
Seeing if there is a refuge in
The otherwise featureless land.
Upon one hill, dark shapes rise
A standing stone, and a rough roofed tower.
Upon the rock, there are some words
Written in a tongue from ages past
It says βO traveler, who hath wanders far
Thou may find respite within the broughβ
Then the lightning returns, and now thunder
Comes right on top-flash upon clap.
I run inside, just as the rain
Falls in sheets, hard, heavy and fierce.
Within the walls, in the center lies
A floor of stones, laid upon earth.
Though the tower must be, of ancient vintage
The builders had cunningly wrought
The stonework so, that no gap there is
For the rain to sneak in, and wet the inside.
Curiously, upon the floor
Thereβs a stack of wood, and a ceramic jug.
The wood is dry, and of good size,
Within the jug, thereβs naught but water.
I light a fire, to counteract the damp
And unfurl my blanket nearby the wall.
For now I rest, until the storm parts
And the sun shines through, bright true and clear.
As the hours past, I rest my head
To the chime of the wind, and the tap of rain
Which almost sound, from within here
Like music wrought by unseen hands.
annaxmalina
origamiaround
prguitarman
kaledo-art
blakekathryn
tangentwithtanner
stormborns
