A gust of wind flips welcome mats

A crack of thunder heralds winds of change

Whispers of moisture turn to rain

Shaking branches of newly budded trees

Just as I was getting acclimated to winter

Local flights won't be landing in this tornado

When the sun shower shines over there

I'm in the rain on a rock watching the sunset

getting accustomed to her over here

Safe in an underground shelter am I

As trees rip loose from the soil

Torrents and lightening rouse me from slumber

As I awake from hibernation

Waking with sore arms from sleeping too long

I can see the taillights through the clouds

Grounded from exotic escapes

Welcome back home and don't be late

March 16, 2025

Beaver on the Banks of the Ohio