Sunday, July 16, 2006

Storm

Written about a storm on January 12, 1978.
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Throughout the day, the rain had been coming down rather steadily; occasionally, it would whittle down to a flimsy sprinkle, and more often, it would attack the city with sheets of angry raindrops careening in from the heavens. But for the most part, it was a steady, grey rain falling from the grey clouds, through the grey sky and melting into the wet ground beneath.

Now, the scene was changing. Lying in bed, all was dark in my room and on the outside of my cold glass windows. The slight breezes I had felt during the day were gaining intensity, beginning to sound as if they were holding a hectic race of power between themselves. I heard the woos and wahs of the trees outside; my windows began to rattle and bang with a passion. The whole house seemed to shudder with each gust as the wind grew to be a ferocious monster in the dark.

I opened my windows a crack in the hopes that they would not shatter, sending my curtains to the ceiling. A great rumble filled my room and I jumped up to see the tree outside flattened against one window, pushing and arguing with it as if to say, "Let me pass!" The rain was pounding the ground, giving the impression that one was living in the center of a lake.

I went back to bed, and slowly dropped off to sleep amidst the screams of the angry wind, the thrashing rain of the skies, and the growling, groaning pain of the house around me.

In the morning, all was quiet. A few trees littered the driveway; the woodshed had lost its footing and it too lay prone in pieces; the ground was a muddy lake of leftover rain.

The storm was gone.

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