A poem for those who love a good storm

Storm by Brooks Haxton Cattle egrets in the dry grass waded like white clerics at the hooves of brood cows, heifers, and new calves. Forked lightning. Calm. The darkness in the cattle tank welled up and flooded the reflection of the trees. Turkey vultures wheeled, and wheeled away. No swifts, no swallows, children gone indoors. Rain seethed into the willowtops, sky flashing, while the black bull under the water locust glowed with an inward surge of darkness.