Before a storm that kept me up all night
I watched a bison walking in the sage.
In the redness of the dawn the bison
Said, “A finger licked, a turn of the page.”
The hail is just hail.
The wind is just wind.
A storm is just that.
A flicker of normal.
A test of nothing.
A shiver down warm spines.
Written by Peter Adourian