Storms..

Standard

The sky splits open above me, and I sit safely in a shelter of bricks and plaster,

remembering that in this vast open plain storms were once the voices of the gods reminding us how small we are.

Now we huddle in big tough houses and don’t feel the wind,

we don’t feel the rain,

but when the thunder starts up again…

We are damned if we don’t quake right down to our

tiny,

helpless,

insignificant

boots.

I love Australia.

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