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Comes The Storm

Just before the dawn
as night folded back
over the Algonquin Highlands
I sensed the back of God
within the indigo clouds
that passed over the valley.

The thick humid air muffled
the rumble of distant thunder.
Even the deer of the forest
stopped and paused,
eyes wide open and
ears pricked up.

Then, the lightning struck
over the tree tops
and two green cedars
crossed and swayed
in the flowing breeze
ablaze now with the fire.

By Michael Dallaire