after

After days of fits and outbursts
from sky to ground . . .

. . . light softened into evening,

and I was healed,

I adjusted . . .

. . . as if an angry word had never been spoken.

The torn tree still lies in sawed pieces. The honeybees still swarm around their hive in the fallen limb. The leaves on the standing remnant bend in the breeze.

I bend with nature, I submit - holding on, like a spider on a blade of grass.