The Stumbling Rhythm of Storms

Lake Storm
by Spencer Connell

The wind is strong enough
to parasail with this tent.
But instead, I sit and exhale
as if smoking, and watch the tarp
rise and fall at rhythm with my stomach.

Twice I have refolded my jacket
pillow, following the creases as if they were
plot lines in a novel, while the plants blow
from left to right. The wind is
strong enough to pull the stakes from the earth
and toss them across the lake, rising
and falling like a feather never touching
the ground.

It was a quick thing, the storm
coming over the sawtooth tree-
line, then across the lake and turning
its top to white in a chalk line
advancing to me.

An ant crawls
through the tent holding a crumb
of my bread and brie so large
he stumbles multiple times,
as if drunk. The wind dies
and I go back to blowing the tarp

and watch as the rain that has settled
finds a path back to the ground and to me.


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I am a dreamer, as well as a doer, who lives in the North Georgia mountains. I started my publishing journey August of 2013, have had moderate success, but my utmost passion is my "daytime" job, which is working with adults who are constantly striving to better their lives as they obtain the GED credential.

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