Raw Nature

It begs the imagination to comprehend
quite how powerful the old girl is. For
the most part, we live trustingly with her
benign manifestations that so capably
and generously give us life and the ability
to negotiate her climate, alter her terrain
and advantage ourselves by using
and manipulating her creations.

We are her ultimate creations and her
beneficiaries, imbued by her with our own
creative tendencies audaciously altering
what she has created, if we can, albeit
without the authenticity of primacy,
for that is hers alone. Our ardent and
presumptuous arrogance may offend on
occasion, resulting in a display of displeasure.

The forceful vigour of the atmosphere
succumbing to precisely those conditions
revealing the combined rage of monsoons,
heated air colliding with a colder layer; the
groundwork of violent, unstoppable winds,
twisting through the air, scooping up all
before them in an awful paroxysm of
pulsating, destructive violence.

After the roaring approach, the searingly
atrocious shattering of all man-made edifices,
nature's own growing things torn from their
stable roots deep within the shuddering soil,
the storm of wild winds pass to reveal the
clutter of destroyed details only seconds
before whole and resolutely comforting,
impervious to time and decay, but not to
the ravages of the ravening winds.

Another season of wild, rapacious tornadoes.
Another reason to recall that Nature's power
and the grandeur of her sweep through our
lives is one of imperial command. Ours to
take note that where Nature's elements
reign, to be respected, proximity avoided.
The alternatives are starkly and morbidly
suicidal by Nature's impartial decree.