The stifling summer stillness lays a hand
In clammy awkwardness upon the land
Until the frightened aspen ceases
To quell each smallest whisper in the making.
Cicada’s eerie song, the cricket’s rasp
Succumb to silence’s possessive grasp;
And even bumblebee, aggressive as he was,
Goes gliding by almost without a buzz.
The climax to this watchful waiting wonder
Rings startlingly–the sudden shout of thunder.
by Ray Romine Monday, June 8, 1953
