After the eye passes overhead,
and you are left with random flashes and booming,
wondering what of the patio furniture has been left intact,
which backyard umbrella has vaulted over the neighbours
fence to freedom,
you find that the air is indeed fresher,
the ground less dusty and cluttered,
and that despite the rogue thunderbolt,
you are now just as safe outdoors as in.
That you can find peace in the strange in-between unsettled air,
and disturbed behaviour of the animals,
full of evolution and knowledge,
and calmly besieged
lifting their faces up.
They are clean, and now there is water.
Like after telling about love,
no matter how cramped and calamitous,
however dingy and suspect,
your finer instincts remain,
and you have done nothing
but to let the storm come.
Then carry on.
Philippa Dowding is a professional copywriter and poet living in Toronto, Canada. Her work has been published in MotherVerse magazine and The Barbara Schlifer Memorial Clinic Journal. Her first publication, a novel for children, will appear Spring 2009.