For the Granada Camp for Wayward Poets, Day 19. They suggest we give thought to the creepy crawlies and other creatures around our camp. Today has seen us besieged by thunderstorms, so my mind turned to their effect on fauna.
The storm crashes through the membrane
of blue sky, brings booming thunder,
streaky wayward lethal lightning,
machine gun hail to batter us.
The limb of ancient oak creaks and cracks,
tumbles from force of wind on wood;
perfect habitat of birds transformed
to home for insects, fungi, lichen.
Creatures cower in the undergrowth
fearing the storm as bird of prey
until the drama fades,
and they creep away.