After the Storm

At 2:30 in the morning

The sky is midnight black

Air. Cool, clean and crisp caresses me

Trees now stand still and silent

Ornamental grasses barely nod, as if falling asleep

Vacant roads are not as empty as I thought they would be

Yet I wait at red lights and let imaginary traffic go first

Streets have been swept clean by passing cars and driving rain

Logs, limbs and leaves are piled on either side

At 2:35 the sky is silver gray

And a full moon sleeps beneath

A thin summer blanket of clouds

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