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Thunderstorm
by Tom Swiss
Hot August afternoons
When the first crackle of thunder sounded in the distance
I would whistle them out of the pool
They would head home to hide from the coming storm
Leaving me alone to watch the sky grow over all steely purple gray
The thunder pounded out a rhythm and
The trees began to dance
The wind in their leaves giving them voice to sing praises to the coming rain
A long, hissing "Yesssssss"
As they sway and turn their leaves upward in anticipation
And I
I would dance, too
And while others hid
I would laugh when the first fat warm drops fell on my bare chest
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