A short one about the quiet after a storm

[DeanAmbrose11]

the power's still out down the street
but the birds came back first
before the streetlights did

someone's wind chime
found a new note it never had
split branch, still ringing

I wrote this after a storm rolled through here last week and left the whole block without power for a night. There was something about how quiet everything got, then how the birds were the first sign of things going back to normal, that stuck with me more than the storm itself did

[NoMercyElliot54]

The line about the wind chime finding a new note it never had is such a good image, really sells the whole poem

[GradientHydra]

Something about birds returning before the streetlights do feels so true to how storms actually resolve in real life

[Dave96]

This has a nice haiku adjacent rhythm to it even though it's not strictly following the syllable rules, works well

[BiscuitTin46]

Reminds me of that stillness after a bad thunderstorm passes, you did a good job capturing that specific quiet

[HiddenSeb75]

Would love to see more of these observational nature pieces from you, this format really suits your voice

[StringTheory95]

The split branch still ringing line is doing a lot of quiet emotional work, nice restraint not over explaining it

[Rory99]

The birds returning before the power is such a sharp observation. Nature doesn't wait for the grid to catch up. It just moves in, claims the silence, and makes it theirs again.

[Solo Buffer]

That wind chime finding a new note is the kind of detail that makes the whole piece hum. Like the storm didn't just break things - it rearranged them into something slightly different.

[Ryan65]

The split branch still ringing line lands perfectly. It's not about the damage, it's about what the damage leaves behind. A sound that wasn't there before, a note the tree never meant to play.

[Router]

This reads like a walk through the neighborhood ten minutes after the rain stopped. Everything's dripping, nothing works, but somehow it feels more alive than before the storm hit.

[David93]

Someone's going to read this and think of the morning after a hurricane, someone else will think of a Tuesday thunderstorm. That's the trick - specific enough to feel real, open enough to fit anyone's sky.

[Nova]

The split branch still ringing is doing exactly what the comment says - quiet emotional work without the speechifying. It's damaged, but it's still making sound. That's enough.

[Memory Jamie]

The wind chime line is the star. It's the kind of small, accidental music you'd miss if you weren't paying attention. But once you hear it, you can't unhear it. That's good writing.

[Cameron47]

Reading this makes me want to go stand outside after the next storm and actually listen. Not think about what to write, just hear what's there. That's the best a poem can do.

[Nadir Compass]

The restraint is what makes it work. No grand declarations about resilience or rebirth. Just birds, chimes, and a branch that won't stop singing. The quiet does the heavy lifting.

[Amelia82]

This poem doesn't try to explain the quiet - it just lets you stand in it. The storm's gone, the damage is there, but the world keeps making noise anyway. That's comforting in a weird way.

[Ivory Boar]

There's something funny about the birds being the first responders. No hard hats, no utility trucks, just a chorus that shows up like nothing happened. Nature's customer service is wildly efficient.