A solitary star shoots across the colorless late spring sky.
Minutes later a furtive squall catches the awestruck beach unawares.
First a gentle rain sets casual astronomers scurrying for cover,
then, as they shake sand from hooded sweatshirts, the sky opens up.
A dazzling flash brings brief clarity to the lakeside shadows.
The jagged bolt of raw electricity links heaven and earth.
Static shimmers in the air at the edge of the shadowed porch.
The impact is so close that there is no time to react
before a head-splitting bang rattles the cottage windows.
A mottled blue mug teeters on the rustic handrail.
There is awe in the light, wonder in the sound, danger of a fire,
and it happened in the space of two heartbeats.
Chris Clark
Chris Clark 