Thunder rumbled in the summer sky
Like a hundred furious drums, crashing
The earth trembled beneath my feet
As lightning, like swords, went slashing.
The wind in the distance roared
Like witches in the air did shriek
As giant sycamores began to bow
Along the banks of Diamond Creek
The swirling clouds hid dangers
Twisting winds in circular motion
Ready to spawn a demon tornado
On the prairie, wide as the ocean
Yet, in tranquility the cattle graze
On emerald grasses, green and deep
Meadowlarks sing an evening song
Settling in for a long night’s sleep
Perhaps peace is not the absence of
The raging storms of life
But finding a sense of purpose
Amidst the conflict and the strife.
A silent doxology born on the air
From the cattle softly lowed
I sang with them the beloved hymn
It is well, it is well, with my soul.
(I captured this image just north of my house in Artz’s pasture a couple of years ago, but I just now put words to the image)
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