Sweet Wife left very early for her church services. She tiptoed to my side of the bed and gave me a kiss and then I was alone with the sound of distant thunder; the morning dark and the air heavy with rain. I left my warm bed and quickly stepped outside for the Sunday paper. Isn't it nice to open your home's door and to step back inside to the scent of fresh brewed coffee and the gentle caress of a cat with a good hour of reading heavy in your hand.
Sunday morning papers and coffee agree with me.
It's heavy now, the thunder. Then the high pitched chest thump crack of lightning. The house silent otherwise. Now, the rain. The gutters spill the excess like walls of pure silver. I wonder, where do the wild critters take shelter. My old cat sleeps peacefully beneath my outstretched legs. She lets forth a soft whine when the thunder rips. The wind chimes dance with glee.
I should make breakfast. Perhaps I'll wait for the return of my wife. She'd like a hot meal too, besides, what art is to be had when one dines alone.
Again, the far off sound of new storms announce their approach. The thump vibrates the house and gives warning of winds exceeding sixty. Winds with the power to reduce mighty oaks to kindling.
I flipped the screen to Fox and within seconds the signal is lost. Fine, I do prefer the silence. Maybe, just maybe, I'll jump over to Ebay and try a snipe on silver coins. If I'm careful there are bargains and satisfaction to be garnered by my sneaky intrusions. When I win I always express my apologies to the fallen foes. I know, but isn't it just good manners, when you've reached and taken the coin from their purse, to give regrets.
Off topic, sorry.
The rain pounds. I should flank this storm and build yet another fresh pot of coffee, just in case the power fails. Gather a nearby kerosene lamp and place matches alongside. It's dark enough some light might dispel the gloom.
Rain, pelts the roof. Its soothing. Perhaps I should read. Yet, here I sit as I tap this mindless ramble of words upon a white screen to the beat of thunder and rain and the odd flash of silver light as my trees dance and sway with the wind. I'm sure if I rose and stepped back outside I'd find the river with whitecaps where even the gulls have sense enough to seek shelter under the boat house.
Isn't it pretty how storms break the monotony of life. How they are able to open those hidden doors of our minds and to lay bare our worst fears and worries. Yet, storms too give us solace. Storms can fortify our will and courage, dispel our weaknesses when our strengths are needed.
I'll place a light in a window. It's dark outside.
(Published without edit. The storm has flickered my power and time isn't on my side.)
Stephen
