lightning, thunder.

The light comes before 	the rumble.
The longer the gap		between them,
the further the storm		from you.

The first flash woke me.	For once,
my wife slept through	it all.

I lay alone with the sound	        and light,
watching, listening, 		        and counting.

Light, 				one Mississippi,
two Mississippi,		then

a rumbling menace 		                           above the roof.
Windows rattled, the dog	burrowing        between us.

In the next flash, 		a silhouette, a child
midstride, framed by		the illumined window.

He climbed through		        the thunder
into the flannel & heat		a safe dry place
between father, mother,	        and dog. 

The sound got as close		as the light.
It rained 		                        till morning.

Written in response to this writing challenge.

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