The Storm

Sailing boats,

out of the water,

as though

lined up against an impending storm;

all their halliards 

shaking vigorously,

sounding like birds in flight.

Low tide,

and the pink footed geese,

further out in the water today,

are almost hidden 

behind a long natural breakwater.

I hear them honking for the first time,

muted,

in the distance,

drifting in gently on the wind;

sounding like in slow-motion.

Then, 

between the rocks,

entering the mudflats,

sailing in 

like many ships heading for harbour:

an Armada of geese.

There’s a dampness in the air 

that clings to reality like an odour.

The weather is changing,

and later on,

much later,

as though greeting an unexpected friend,

the rain will arrive.

The storm passes,

and as night descends,

the vapour trail from an aircraft,   

which has a pleasant orange glow,

tracks its demise.

Early next day

on a calm February morning

geese are again visiting the estuary.

I hear them outside 

as I lie in bed.

Later,

walking through a spring-like idyll,

small birds bloom on bare trees.

Edward Rogers

2019

‘The Storm’ appears in Fallen Leaves, Tuba Press, 2019. Reproduced here with permission of the author.