Aftermath Poem by Bernard Franklin

As the frosty twig light shadows engulf the Scottish glen, an eerie silence descends down upon the calm and tranquil waters of the loch below. Pebbles on the shoreline worn smooth over millennia by erosion, twinkle in the blue hue of a cold autumn moon.
Deep beneath the black waters of the loch, the freezing liquid does not affect the aquatic life forms that live in this cold and fluid world.

Huge salmon lay close to the surface of the water completely exhausted, their deadly fight to climb upstream has seen them once more reclaim their home, but not without many losses. Fishing boats gently bob up and down on the surface of the great lake, dotted about they look like pawns on a giant chess board.

Where the banks of the loch rise up towards the mountains they are luxuriously carpeted by row upon row of fir and spruce trees. This forest is a haven for the animal kingdom that humanity seldom encounters. In the distance an approaching storm performs an electric light show, sheet lightning turning the sky a kaleidoscope of colours. The rumbling thunder, almost melodic, sounds like distant native drums as the heavily pregnant clouds slowly begin to tear themselves apart.

Soon the first drops of rain arrive, their pitter-patter intensifying as the storm ominously glides overhead. The strong winds royal consorts to the rain, whip the surface of the water of the loch into a churning frenzy. The fishing boats are now thrown about like disregarded rag dolls in a playground. Fork lightning rips through the air creating daylight for a few brief seconds at a time, it’s indiscriminate landfall causing a lottery of mindless destruction.

The horizontal winds and rain that lash the forest canopy, bend the huge and ancient conifers into reluctant submission. The animals of the glen must all seek shelter from this ferocious natural Blitzkrieg. There is a perverse beauty to behold as mother nature vents her wrath upon the earth, this awesome storm a prelude to Armageddon perhaps? .

A single albatross lost high up in the storm, uses it’s wings to conduct this heavenly orchestral performance. Like a tramp with nowhere to live the storm moves slowly away, another target already in it’s deadly sights. Almost imperceptibly at first the wind and rain decrease in ferocity, and the fireworks show in the heavens slowly starts to fizzle out.

Once more peace returns to the glen, but now there is a heavy acrid smell in the air from the damp moss and autumn heather. Hundreds of fast flowing tributaries now pour into the loch, which now acting like a giant sponge absorbs the tons of water that have been unleashed by the god’s.

On the surface of the glen after their roller coaster ride, the surviving fishing boats once again gently rock at their moorings. Deep beneath the icy waters the creatures that live there didn’t even now there had been a storm at all, and by daybreak and with the new sun’s warmth drying out the sodden earth, the glen and loch slowly recover their tranquillity.