What a lovely hue for a sky!

Startling Carolina Blue
bordered by whip-cream-white cumulus,
slate-gray remnants
drifting away,
North.

(Yeah!
Give them damn Yankees
a taste of our medicine!)

All that humidity drenching the air
evaporates
as if never there.

Rivers breaching their banks now,
clogged with rain-drain and ocean-surge,
creating, for days, maybe weeks,
Archipelagos in the Piedmont
and a misplaced string of barrier islands
stitching our Great Dismal Swamp,

while my soggy neighbor proclaims,
in a one-upping stretch,
how much more tempestuous
was his hurricane-war
than mine.

Fickle Mother
repents her little snit.

Florence flows away.