Up to the city siren and out of bed quickly to survey the situation.
As if there’s anything I could do to save us.
The fierce wind drives waves of rain. Trees and wires sway. Lawn chairs tumble across the yard. Bird feeders swing wildly on their hooks. A garbage can rolls down the street.
In the basement, we wait it out.
I gaze at the wide wooden beams above that support us every day. Run my fingers along the rough edges to rebuild my confidence. This hundred-and-something-year-old home has weathered plenty. It will outlast me. Maybe even the newest builds in the neighborhood.
The siren stops.
We head upstairs.
My wife gets eggs out from the fridge.
The kids fill bowls with Lucky Charms.
I head out onto the front porch.
Hairs up on the back of my neck. Ears drinking up sounds. Eyes scanning the sky, hoping there’s more to come.
One response to “sunday morning storm”
When we read stories, we can laugh at their funny adventures, feel the thrill of the words that’s told, see ourselves in the story, and learn from the challenges that we all face in storms of life.