Strikes of light illuminate valleys. Trees, bushes, fences, brought suddenly into bright relief.
Sharp, clear stencils of black outline each object.
White, exposed tree bark against dark, wet grass.
Speeding, rushing river, reflected glints of whitened galvanism.
Wet slathered house, standing against black green forest.
Tar road, swamped with cold flowing water.
Your skin goosebumps, awakened by bright majesty.
Breath quickens, fills with clear-eyed expectancy,
You shiver, out of excitement, out of cold, out of raw reality.
And another flash fills your vision. Above you. Around you.
The bolt spiders horizontal from it's height, spreading to other clouds,
flinging outward, lacing sky with quicksilver shine, accumulated volts of true and terrible stuff.
You stand, small and alone, alive, awake and aware in teeming truth.
The voice of the Lord twists the oaks
and strips the forests bare.
And in his temple all cry,
"Glory!"