It struck me every day
The lightning was as new
As if the cloud that instant slit
And let the fire through.

It burned me in the night, 5
It blistered in my dream;
It sickened fresh upon my sight
With every morning’s beam.

I thought that storm was brief,—
The maddest, quickest by; 10
But Nature lost the date of this,
And left it in the sky.

~Emily Dickinson

I like this poem, but I’m not sure what to say about it, as my brain is pretty fried from a week of faculty meetings and prepping to teach five different courses starting this week, so I’m just going to leave this here for your enjoyment. Whatever your storms are, I hope they pass and are not left in the sky indefinitely.