Happy New Year to all my Flickr friends and contacts, and to everyone out in the big Flickr universe!! Thank You for 100,000 Plus views on my photos!!! Metereological Sestina (a poem) by John M. I know the language of storms,living here in this place of flat earth and open sky. Pressure builds and the sky slowly greens.And, in my head, a rage of butterflies tickles the inside of my skull like a warning, like a skull and crossbones, harbinger of storms and violence to come with that flag which fliesup from the horizon, lying flat in the distance. The land greens too, in summer, when the pressure of weather weighs most heavily. Pressure was not unknown to me before now. Skulls cracked in my house. There were greens from old bruises of the storms that raged through my youth, flat-tening all. It made me gentle; even fliesI caught and released. Even flies deserved more than I. The pressure changed me, taught me to lie flat,to hide the thoughts, skul-king from the first hint of storms that could rip the greens from trees and ground. And envious greens freckle me as a solitary bird flies off in the distance, away from storms that threaten. It reads the pressure and knows, somewhere deep in its skull,that it is time to find a study tree to flat-ten up against. I, too, would lie flat against trees for safety. The piney greens behind the house. The pulse in my skullbeating, beating, like wings of flies--fast and hard and buzzing. Finally pressure released in my own wet salty storms.Storms' grammar are simple and flat:pressure. But they're also living, a green whirl that flies though fields and skulls. Lightning by_BleedingHeats at Devientart Texture by Skeletal Mess