After the Storm


After breakfast the storm rolled in,
with rumbling thunder in the distance,
then lightning flashed and struck her heart,
criticism roared.

Seeking cover in her own self worth
she whispered, “Don’t spit anger”
yet spit she did with spiteful words
that blew back to sting her face.

After the storm, the quiet rolled in
no more lightning, no more thunder,
just retreating heavy clouds of distance.

After the storm she walked alone
among ancient bonsai trees and whispered
thanks to each enduring work of art.

The presence of the artists’ patient visions
offered balance to her sudden flash of anger.
The heavy clouds began to dissipate.


Display at the National Bonsai Garden in Washington, D.C.



4 thoughts on “After the Storm

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