The speaker sits and watches a summer thunderstorm move across a meadow, noting small details rather than the big drama of the weather. A butterfly clings to the screen, a fawn bleats, a doe appears faintly through the rain, and a fly wanders over the speaker's trousers. The poem is built from short, separate glimpses, almost like a series of quick notes, which makes it feel like we are watching alongside the speaker.
The speaker seems calm and absorbed, more curious than frightened. Nature carries on in the middle of the noise: the fawn, once the lightning has passed, stands up and bats at a branch, and the repeated "Towhee" lines suggest a bird singing without pause through the downpour. The daylilies, flattened after their single day of bloom, add a gentle note of loss. The ending is quiet and lingering, with the sky brightening while darkness still clings to the wet leaves. The mood is attentive, peaceful, and a little wistful.