Songs after the storm

Songs after the storm

The woman storm shrieks about the hills,
though the lost child in nowhere in their folds,
no lightning light will show the way to the truth.

Cymbal-crash in the clouds
with the military brashness of destruction,
the pink of dawn a memory,
birdsong of first light a warning,

but I listen for the music of the trees,
the leaf-rustle in a cool breeze,
the murmured song of the stream,
for the anger and grief to pass.

In the lull, the trough of the waves,
I listen for the bright trills,
the flutes and strings of the birdfolk
to sooth the pain, sing tomorrow.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

10 thoughts on “Songs after the storm”

  1. Marc’s painting is like a mirror of mine–once again we have similar words and images but different ways of expressing them. “the flutes and strings of the birdfolk”–I love that. (K)

    1. Thank you. Yes, you had the night picture, Marc’s is the dawn picture. Our images are the same and the sentiment, but the Oracle works in our different experiences too.

  2. I was ready to use this same painting, but then changed my mind! For real!! And I took out my birds at the end. Obviously, the Oracle knew. We both had songs and storms. 😊

    1. I forgot to say, that the painting we both turned to strikes me as being full of movement and contrasts. Not at all like the dreamy Redon style of painting. I wonder if it’s because of the storm element?

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