It has been gathering since mid-morning,
the wispy mares’ tails around the breakfast hour
were the first harbingers, the haze over the water tower
the second warning,
a barely perceptible change in temperature
and now I’m sure.
It takes a day to make a storm;
or does it take countless ages?
Like a sonata or a sonnet,
or the shaping of a bonnet,
the work is done in stages.
I’ll study the storm
and its dynamo of energy
and how it took an entire day
and intricate interplays of synergy
to conjure up and to form
this magic interplay.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem