Gaelic dreams

From a cloudless sky

lightning strikes a tree,

splits it down the middle,

strips its bark,

leaves it naked on the bank.

No fairy queen rises up above the water.

No daughter nymph of a river god

brought you a sword,

bid you to be strong,

save the world from impending doom.

You stand alone next to a smoking dying tree,

ask yourself if this is an omen,

a mystic synchronism from beyond.

You convince yourself that it is happenstance

and no one owes you a mission,

but somehow you are changed.

8-25-26