By Barbara Jorgen Nance
Lightning sliced a piece of the sky and thunder practiced its roar. Clouds rolled in that were the color of coal. The north wind whispered in my ear a soft warning to take cover. We’ve all delighted in some gentile monsoon showers this season, but the next one coming will be a strong surprise.
Earlier today the cotton candy clouds happily floated along, flirting with the blue sky as they always do. But now, the dark damp clouds have moved into the neighborhood. Thunder began grumbling off in the distance. Louder and louder it grew. Cottontails scattered and the birds disappeared. They all knew to take cover.
The storm arrived and filled the small arroyo behind our house, quenching the thirst of the riverbed. It washed clean all the old dry, bleached bones of those that have long been dead. Time often goes unnoticed in the desert, so it made no difference that the electricity was knocked out. I realize what a slave I am to it and how much we all depend on electricity. The birds wake every morning with no need of an alarm clock. No need to check their computers. They just fluff up their feathers before they travel on the path of the endless blue sky. The ancient people of forgotten times bathed in the same desert light as we do today. Do the winds blow on and on forever and ever? Are they continually spreading the sands of time? Do they cover the bones of the ancient ones and one day plan to cover mine?
The lightning is still slicing pieces of sky and the rain rolls off my roof like Niagara Falls. The pond outside my window grows larger and its beachfront grows longer. That place where ripples travel to when a stone is thrown into a pond.
Raindrops are dwindling as the dark, damp clouds move along on their journey. The sun appears and rainbows begin to sprout. One cannot entice a storm cloud to linger about. I have tried to no avail. It’s a take-it-as-it-comes situation. So, until our electricity returns, I’ll sit here and count all my blessings. I’ll pet my dog Zephyr and assure her that the big, noisy storm is moving on, and we are all safe. We’ll breathe in the freshly washed air and delicious scents of a renewed desert. Then we’ll make a trip around the house and see how many windows I neglected to close during the rain.