Brightness fades.
Sooty clouds slowly shove aside
light-weight cumulus puffs.
Birds disappear. Eerie stillness descends.
Suddenly winds whip tall grasses.
Leaves whimper as trees bend.
Branches snap.
Forecasters definitely wrong.
Mother Nature no longer subtle.
Hints replaced by blatant bombastic warning.
Take shelter.
Now.

Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today is Quadrille Monday and Mish asks us to use the word “hint” (or a form of the word) in our poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. Image from Bing Create.