Storm by Timothy Haut
Mark 4:35-41 He watched the clouds Rise in black mounds, Rumbling with menace In the still, sultry afternoon. Not a leaf stirred, As if in this dark silence, This tenuous world Held its breath again, Not sure of what was coming. He wiped his forehead With his sleeve, Felt the panic rise (as it always did) When the darkness gathered. He feared these storms Knowing that some day One would get him. Suddenly the wind awoke, Roiling the water around His small, small boat. As a wave battered it broadside, He uttered something, An oath, or maybe a prayer, Turned as the lightning Revealed a face in the stern. The only calm in this storm. Someplace in him The clouds parted. (Comments to Tim at Deep River, CT