Mountain Storm

I stand among the pines and watch
A moving shadow-shade that makes a blotch
To slip along the yonder canyon wall
With liquid flow. Far and faint the call
Of eagle, lost against the sky, sifts down
Through sultry air that seems to hug the ground.
Then Silence sits to rest among the hills,
To hush each common, smallest sound, and fills
With brooding quiet the space from ground to sky.
I smile: from time before I've known the lie
In promised peace. With props at beck and call.
Nature, master showman of them all.
With careful atmosphere has set the stage.
A foil for Violence that will swiftly rage
Across the drowsy scene.
The action starts:
The elements have practiced long their parts;
On many a set of hills they've staged the show,
The swift and thrilling drama wild things know.
A shiver shakes the needled boughs of trees.
A hum, as of a loosened hive of bees,
Rides up the wind that comes from distant plain
To act as herald for the coming rain.
Thunder sounds off stage in grumbling tones.
The wind grows fierce and strong until it moans
Among the bowing pines. The lights are dimmed
As, high above, the canyon walls are rimmed
With dark and scudding clouds. Then through the gloom
The lightening probes with livid fire. The boom
Of thunder caged among the crags is tossed
From wall to wall until its sound is lost
In louder peal. The quickening drive of rain
Comes now in slashing sheet. Its darkening stain
Runs down the boles of trees. Downward slants
The wind to lash into a dervish dance
The creaking boughs...
No anti-climax lame!
The storm goes past as swiftly as it came.
The hills again are bright and fresh and warm
Where lately played the shouting gods of storm.