Storm
by Timothy Haut

Mark 4:35-41

He watched the clouds
Rise in black mounds,
Rumbling with menace
In the still, sultry afternoon.
Not a leaf stirred,
As if in this dark silence,
This tenuous world
Held its breath again,
Not sure of what was coming.
He wiped his forehead
With his sleeve,
Felt the panic rise
(as it always did)
When the darkness gathered.
He feared these storms
Knowing that some day
One would get him.
Suddenly the wind awoke,
Roiling the water around
His small, small boat.
As a wave battered it broadside,
He uttered something,
An oath, or maybe a prayer,
Turned as the lightning
Revealed a face in the stern.
The only calm in this storm. 
Someplace in him
The clouds parted.

(Comments to Tim at timothyhaut@yahoo.com.)
Deep River, CT