Shutters on Window
Wooden window shutters
like the eyes to your soul.
Receive the daylight,
interpret and make sense of the world.
Shut them, we are blind, enclosed,
dark and within ourselves, silent, withdrawn.
over the town, street, pedestrians, cars,
impending storm clouds:
Rain imposes itself,
onto the glass within your sheltering arm casements,
Uncomfortable dribs run down in rivulets,
tracing a road of moisture where each drop has been,
Spilling over the sill's edges,
dripping in giant plops
between the cobblestones,
into the sedges.
Better to close the shutters to the wind, skirling,
protect us from the debris, whirling
wind rattling the house, with insistent wood knocking,
fierce elements at the window,
Inside we cower, listening to the tumult
feeling safe from the noisome activity without.
Seeing the flash, Lightning, through the wood's edges,
hearing the crash and echo. Thunder,
racing the heart's engine, setting it off,
heightened nervous tension simmers,
percolates through the room,
Seeking the souls, sitting, waiting, silent,
Fierce elementals, have now come too near,
We respect them, their power,
destructive in aspect,
let them complete their mission,
die away slowly,
let out the Sun.
Leaving a freshly new, charged,
It's over, it's done, like taking a deep breath,
Push back the wood shutters,
see into the bright rainbow.
Writing by Regina Stemberger