the wind sounds first, a low bass note rumbles
followed by high piccolo as it trails
between the branches. qued, I dim the lights.
now a mourning cello warns of the din
about to bombard my little room. I
jump to greet a flash of light, surprised.
a moment's pause for proper syncopation
yields expectedly the rumble of the
bass drum. raindrops patter against my screen:
the only barrier between me and
this wet symphony. only from the safe
haven of my room can I observe it
without fearing the wrath of nature's score.