Sunday April Evening in Vienna -old poem

Summer Sunday Evening in Vienna

It's 8:30 barely...on a Sunday evening in Vienna.
The sky, light blue, fades into night.
The trees have been tousled around by the wind
but a stillness has come over them
and it's gentle-blowing now.
Abrubt as sleep to heavy bodies,
clouds veil the sky in darkness.
You can feel the heaviness in the air.
Little, faraway, rolling claps of thunder
pump the blood through your softly beating heart.
Barely audible for at least an hour, you've wondered
if it was imagination, fear...Until
Now! -Crash!- when a flash of lightning flickers in the corner of your eye,
catching your attention

Given the next few ticks of a clock, on a hot and sunny day that chaperoned a warm weekend,
the clouds have had enough;
They break open with rain.
Rain that comes gentle at first,
pitter patters.
I rise to close the windows, smell the air, rejuvenating,
cleansingthe stone-city below.
I feel the sky 'release' its cloud-knotted tension,
begin its barrage, celestial floodgates thrown open.
It's raining harder and harder...
then SMACK!
thwack! smack! CRACK!
upon dizzy, shuddering rooftops.
The sound of hard, white, crystalline orbs colliding with windows,
exploding in vain attempts to cover the city in white, they melt down the sides of buildings,
of steeples of churches.


“Will it will break?” I wonder. The clatter and crash, the soon-to-be shattered windows,
my thoughts manifest as hand-sized hailballs are
smack smack cracking, throwing their forces into second wave, third,
the army is
hitting the ground
turning to slush
and rinsed away...
Melted by the coming rain.

The trees leaves, softly audible, dance in the howling wind
The lightning becomes only an accepted and expected effect, the strobe-light flashing in the dance-club of this Summer-storm
The thunder is on the level of your heartbeat, of your excitement, of your natural involvement with this miniphenomena of earth
The hail stops
The rain lessens
The sky darkens, a few lightning bolts still flash over the last pink patch of fade-to-blue sky
Into the night-hours, the thunder remains
loudly humming to the electric air,
the only reminder that nature so ceaseless, restless and waiting.
is dangerously calling.