by Glenda Barrett

Unlike Molly, the neighbor woman
who runs to our house for protection
the minute she sees a storm cloud,
I like to stand my ground and watch
the storm approach with loud claps
of thunder and streaks of lighting
that flash across the sky.

Nor do I mind the dusty smell,
when unexpected summer showers
pelt dirt roads on a sweltering day,
and I am comforted by the sound
of raindrops falling on tin roofs.

Once when my children were small
I let them bathe in a summer shower.
As I struggle with my own storms,
ones that strike without warning,
leaving me battered and bruised,
I meet my grief head-on. When
the storm is over, I search the rubble
and find tiny, gold nuggets of truth
more valuable than my losses.

Glenda Barrett, a native of Hiawassee, Georgia, is an artist, poet and writer. Her work has been in Mary Jane’s Farm Magazine, Journal of Kentucky Studies, Chicken Soup for the Soul, Woman’s World, Country Woman, Farm & Ranch Living and many others. Her Appalachian paintings are on display at Fine Art America, and her poetry chapbook, “When the Sap Rises,” can be found on Amazon.

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