It begins with a whisper of leaves stirring, a quick glow from distant lightning, the low growl of the approaching storm.
I awake to the now-familiar pattern as the whisper grows louder and the wind increases, banging and crashing unseen objects into each other, loosening sheets of rain against windows and rattling doors. Angry thunder rumbles across the lake and bounces off mountain walls. Wind and water assault the land with a fierceness that makes my body tense.
I wonder about all those who live in their flimsy structures at the edge of the lake and those who live with hurricanes, holding their breath, wondering if their fragile houses will withstand the unleashed forces of nature.
And, then, like a passing freight train, it’s gone, leaving nothing but a sigh of dripping leaves and then silence.
I feel my body relax, knowing daylight will bring blue skies, clean streets, and a bustle of everyday people going about their everyday lives.
Street reflections from other mornings after the storm.
19/100
I love the first street reflection of the storm with the missing top of the buildings shown in the long puddle mirror.
ReplyDeleteYou narrate the storm powerfully, thank you. I experience it in a similar way except it doesn't to me seem like assault, and the thunder sounds more like a happy percussionist than an angry one.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing your experience ... I love your way of thinking of the storm. I'm sure I would have been one of those primitives who thought the gods needed to be appeased. It scares me and I always feel relieved as it moves on.
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