Good ta see ya, Storm

As the sky howls, as it roars,
As it unleashes its formidable deluvian power,
As it turns the streets into rivers
And forces all but a few brave - or foolish? - souls
To run for cover, and there to cower,

As the sky seems to scream out its rage, its wrath,
At us puny mortals,
I find myself wondering:

Is it really angry?
Could it be that the sky
Is having a roaring good time?
Is it perhaps laughing at some joke
That the sea, or maybe the moon, just made?

Or is it simply reveling in its own power,
In the fear and awe it provokes?

Perhaps, just perhaps, it's a simple matter of clouds becoming saturated with humidity.

Somehow I doubt it.