You won’t find Her in the thunder,
or in the foaming of a violent sea,
You won’t see Her in the hurricanes,
or the aftermath’s debris.
You won’t hear Her in the howling winds,
or the creeking of a breaking branch,
You won’t notice Her in the driving hail,
or in the drumming of an avalanche.
You’ll sense Her building slowly,
creeping like darkening clouds,
Like the anxious, humid, coming storm,...