Exclaim and quake at the bluster of the storm
Cry at its wrath
So that it is appeased
Beg for mercy
Throw down your possessions, devaluing their worth
over you life
For there are brief moments-very brief-lasting a night
or an afternoon
When the raging winds and snows and rains
Instill in us an inner calm
A euphoric but staid rejoicing
For merely being alive and well, relatively safe
Within the confines of whatever small burrow or nook
Our bodies currently inhabit
If we are warm and dry and thankful
storms are thrashing, temperamental, shrieking reminders
of what it means to be a speck of a human being
filled with wonderment
under imperious, determined skies
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