A storm is coming!

Ragged does her flag fly
in winds ill tempered,
That run before
the stormy clouds.
Each hot and humid breath
stretch taut the silken colors.
Released as exhalations pass,
with sounds that startle those below.
A power applied and then let go,
in turmoiled breezes,
warning of impending strength.
Coming close and closer still,
She waits.
She knows no other way.
To watch and ride it out,
until the energy is spent.
Then breathing slows to cadences even.
As winds return to sleeping rhythms,
and sun burns bright to
darken shadows,
once more.