Summer Storm

A random tweet from a Newcastle tweep, six minutes ago:

‘That’s some storm!’

We rushed to the BOM – the radar loop live on the net

And yes, there!

fingers pointing toward blobs of yellow blue and red, pushing in from the North West.

We moved our chairs on the verandah:

settled in to watch the lightning show

and listen for the following of the rain on roofs rolled nearby:

at Lysaghts.

These houses, once a dormitory for the steelworks: the coke-ovens and hearths at the blast furnace

Sit angular and uncompromising against the sky,

By no means ill mannered enough to challenge the heavenly doings

But smugly rejoicing in their ability to ignore it

From the point of view of dour reality as opposed to

Fanciful nonsense.

It falls,

soft, then harder and hard. A steady drum on an earth; and electric white-blue rents the sky.

We wonder at the stories that every culture has told its children in answer to the question: