The sirens and bird calls
Merge in the distance
Becoming one to my ears
Both are alerts of an oncoming storm
I can see the shadow of what approaches
It’s outline partitioned by the bright sun
No storm ever comes as one
It comes in parts
What you choose to brace for
Wind
or
Water
or
Lightning
or
Mud
Depends on where you’re standing
Gene G. McLaughlin 2017
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