Two tornados dancing down the cobblestones,
parting the sleeves of weeds,
just being what they are…full of electric charge and swirling winds,
fearful majesty, power and awe..
tornados without a care.
Skipping over fences then dropping down in creeks,
lifting the water high like sprinklers dampening their path.
Hot winds and cold currents, still attached to the sky..
funneling from and sucking the stuffings out of Wedgwood clouds,
free to trip over fields… stirring up their warm moistness with their cool dryness.
Lightening strikes are visual cymbals
announcing now their erratic artistic spinning and
thunder plays the timpani,
drumming out an echo that sounds just a beat after they blow by.
From the distance they are capricious beauty, they are passion and solidarity,
two powerful lovers who will burn themselves out when their run is done..
But below their path, small things have died..
all flowers have lost their heads…
some tiny chicks and seeds and grass and leaves were sucked up and away..into an oblivion,
Two tornados dancing down the cobblestones…. grace or only tragedy?
I guess it depends upon where you were standing when they passed.