The Night The Storm Came

It was the night the storm came.  The day had been hot and humid and the traffic oppressive.  The clouds needed a reason to cry and the mountains needed a reason to shout and stomp.  It was the night the storm came.  Twilight brought an unusual ultra viloet aura in the valley.  A mixture of twilight and a pent up, highly charged electric storm that shared a hue, with, the angelic hights of the mountains.  Sheet lightening.  All encompassing.  I roll the blind up, lie on the bed and wait for the God of Thunder and Lightening to consume me.  The darkness of the forest lights up with a phosphorous flame.   A part of a second lights up that part of my life, that memory, that belongs to a part of my past that can never be recovered. 

In the near distance The God of Thunder and Lightening rumbles and grumbles on to His mountain topped congregation.  Something or Somebody displeases Him.  The pines and the cedars and the alpine flowers bend and swish and tremble with an audible prayer.  Longevity, Longevity, Longevity on the mountain tonight.

I didn`t count the pauses between the flashing light, only the spasms of relief pulsing through my thoughts, between each and every necessary heavenly sign.   Again and again and again lightening.  Again and again and again, the loaded darkness comes.  Inbetween. Like  forebodance.  Like that which is pre-ordained.  The next electricity charge from a thunder storm decrees  tonight is not the night for me to be struck by lightening.  There will be another reason and the storm continues unpreturbed.

The shadows of the night reveal the sorrows of the day.  A face hung low regrets that which simply can not be undone.  The faces outside my window,  (fashioned by my imagination), bring another dimension to the night.  The night rages and their is unrest under this roof tonight.  I get up.  Visit the loo.  I hear a young girl crying.  A nightmare?  This is of no surprise.  She runs through the house panting, screaming, panicking, it seems she too is under the spell of the storm.  I follow her, running, I catch her.  I must, before she reaches the balcony door.  I speak soothing words.  I explain she`s dreaming.  She responds somewhere between the waking and the sleeping and now the whole house is awake.  Daddy is here. The knight of the storm.  All is  quiet.  All is well.  God of thunder chuckles.  He always reaches the sensitive ones.

I return to my room.  The domestic drama subsided.  The rain patters on the window pane asking; Should I stay?  Should I go?  No sooner have I thought these thoughts the drifting storm returns with gusto, like an unwanted friend, who tells you the truth.  Whether or not you want to listen, whether or not you can bear the pain.  Tonight the streets are clean from all our dirty secrets.  The storm cleans our dirty shoes, our dirty words and our dirty minds.

Only then does the God of Thunder and Lightening retreat.  Only then do  the mists lift and only then is the valley reborn for another day.  It was the night the storm came that I slept an undisturbed sleep, because I knew the morning would bring God`s love, God`s forgiveness,  God`s Grace.


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