It's a Mystery

The soft whisper of the wind tickling the back of my neck,

The shade of the tree swallowing the delicate morning sunlight.

A place on this land where nothing can be touched

By the unloving hands of a tortured past.

The sun turns its back as the clouds roll in,

The faint rumble of annoyance quickly turns into a full-blown rage.

The wind violently shakes the trees, giving them whiplash,

The birds hurry to move out of the storm's wide path.

The sky darkens and the downpour starts, 

Soft first but abruptly switching to heavy fat raindrops.

After some time the storm settles and moves on,

Everyone carrying on as if nothing happened.

That’s the mystery of this world,

Something disastrous could happen

And everyone would just go on with their daily lives.