Weather Report: Rain today, sun tomorrow

In the slowly stoked mornings of mist and madness,
when the winter wind's hands make their final
gasping grab at the growling sunlight of spring.
When the tress, thrashed and torn
are bent over, while fitfully
the world quakes in its sleep.

To imagine a time without weather reports
when the future was just what we could see,
how much more, frightening or beautiful,
must this land have seemed to be?

Standing in the doorway, teasing the violence
as gusts rip and tear at my sleeves.
I see the rain falling sideways,
and I feel the cold biting deep.

Alone, I imagine no building behind me
no sanctuary or warm relief.
But what must it have been like to stand
at a cave entrance and wonder when,
or if,
the rain would ever cease.