It’s blows in loud, a thunderous roar.
A wall of clouds glides across the water.
The wind, whipping, stirring, breaking,
The sky opens up, and it begins to pour.
The rich, soft soil, it turns dark,
Trees stand at attention,
Soaking up every drop.
The heat breaks and cools the sweat on my skin.
I taste the sweet, salty air on my tongue.
The humidity rises again,
It’s oppressiveness familiar.
It’s time to go outside,
And feel that warm pressure soar,
I’ll stand on the rooftop to watch the ocean churn,
As there is nothing quite like the thrill of a Lowcountry storm.
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