There came a quickening storm,
one that bought conversation
with the drop of a clap.
Thunder clouds rolled and swelled
along the crests of Jockey's Ridge,
capping the ancient dunes
with an eerie copper glaze.
It moved at a leisurely drift;
surf-fishers, suntanners, salt spray
all scattered before it's track.
The gathered head paused at
odd intervals,and lightning
would implode within the turbid roil,
snapping pictures for God
with muted flashes of illume.
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