Rushing around in a flurry,
Easy enough to forget,
In the bustle and the hurry,
There is a calm, yet,
Before the storm’s begun,
But with just enough,
Time to get everything done,
Scurrying around, doing stuff,
It’s after the storm, loud,
That I first notice the calm,
Sky devoid of cloud,
For the spirit, a balm.
I think, stretch, yawn.
Fuck you Irene.  I’m glad you’re gone.