One Page #43

The beginning of a storm starts with a growl of thunder, like a hungry stomach. And then a wind that picks up speed as it turns leaves over and sends trees crawling over each other. I am always amazed that they remain upright, no matter how fiercely the wind howls. Although branches do come down, and sometimes whole trunks, and I hear sirens screaming and imagine cars and houses and hopefully not people crunched underneath. Every storm is a gamble, but the don’t come without warning. They build, and it this tension that draws faces towards the sky, and muscles clenched in the unknown. The sky darkens slowly. The clouds have been slowly rolling in all day, but mostly they weren’t storm clouds, just humidity clouds that were as pale as the faded blue sky. Birds scramble towards cover and the cat preens on the deck in the final moments of dryness. I sit on the porch, but know that I will be inside soon. The rain begins. Lightly at first, it slowly dampens the pavement and brings the smell that only rain can bring. The then rain becomes heavier, slowly, mounting like an orchestral crescendo. And more thunder, closer this time. I see people on their porches running for cover, a woman who had been gardening stand up slowly, brushing off her knees as if she had all the time in the world to stay dry. Or maybe she welcomes the cool air that comes with the rain. More thunder and the rain is heavier still. But the storm is only beginning. I move further back on the porch and can only feel occasional drops on my legs that extend to the storm searching for relief from the heat. The rain lightens momentarily, but I know that it is only temporary. The real storm is still miles off. More thunder, closer yet, and aggressive. I wait. Sometimes it takes longer than I expect for the storm to blow in full force and angry. I can feel the sky opening up, relieving itself of all the tension that has been mounting. The first of the lightening flashes, a quick streak across the sky. And then the rain tumbles down with strength. It is roaring now. The last of the people run for cover, realizing the seriousness now. This storm isn’t messing around; it is crashing towards us with an iron fist shaking at the earth. The breeze picks up and cools my forehead and ankles. Raindrops fall heavily from the roof and splatter voraciously, pooling and spreading. Cars drive slower, headlights come on and wipers pick up speed. But the center of the storm is still a ways off. And I just wait, knowing it will come, but not in any hurry for it. You can’t hurry a storm; it just doesn’t work that way. A storm is far beyond my control, and I just let it happen to me, like a breath, mounting then calming.