Storms Along Big Creek

The thunderstorm which rattled through an hour before daylight has trailed a legacy of rapidly shifting clouds

Winter-browned leaves from the magnolia tree dance across the lawn.

 Seed wings from the dooryard maples cling wetly to the windshield of the car. The spicy-sweet scent of fading viburnum blossoms is heavy in the damp air.

The cats huddle on the back steps or venture into the tall grass beyond the clothesline—wary or bold according to their individual natures.  At the slightest ker-fluffle of wind or distant growl of thunder they dash inside, skittering down the hall, flinging themselves onto the bed—the better to dry mist-dampened fur and soggy feet.

Grey skies brood over green darkness below; the air which stirs the heavy linen curtains at the sliding door has developed more than a hint of chill

The voice of the wind rises from a whisper to a fretful whine, subsides, rises again with a hint of powers held in check.

The stage seems set, awaiting the production of a Gothic drama.