Storm Clouds   Give me six hours to chop down a tree, and I will spend the first four sharpening the axe.                               —ABRAHAM LINCOLN   Do you think he’s doing nothing when he sits there in silence? What you don’t hear is the slow, steady stropping of his pen,   his purpose gathering like a storm cloud on the western horizon where it’s been unnoticed, unregarded in the crowded   skyscape of everything you hold dear. Prepare yourself for the deluge, the proud outpouring of every last thing you fear.     © Michael Fleming Dummerston, Vermont March 2025