I lived in Panama City, Florida for fifteen years and experienced several hurricanes.
Dark clouds sail quickly toward
the shore, as the moon disappears.
Strong Autumn winds blow,
through the tall palm trees,
streaks of lighting lights
up the warm Autumn night.
Shadows dance on the walls,
as the cool Autumn rain begins
to slowly fall.
The music of the cricket is silenced by
the pitter-patter of falling rain drops on
the warm boardwalk.
All is hushed by those strong gulf winds.
A crash of thunder, and the rain comes
down in sheets, as the storm begins to
move ashore.
White capped waves violently crash over
the concrete retainer walls. A large piece
of rusty tin from the roof of the old boat
house sails through the air before it falls.
Palm trees bend and break in a gust of hurricane
wind. Boats lashed to the docks, rock and
roll too and from and finally succumb.
Road signs dance back and forth before they
finally bend, street light sway like they
are giant red eyes floating on the noisy wind.
The large oaks lean and moan before
they break, debris of rubble and wreckage
everywhere in the monster's wake.
Shattered glass, roof tops gone, telephone
polls down, electricity is out, disaster before dawn.
People huddle and pray that this monster will soon
blow away.
Daylight breaks as the sun peeks through
the clearing sky, the eye of the monster
is here for a few deadly calm moments before
the huddle mass have to experience
the other side, roaring in with the
morning tide.