come by storm

 I heard it out loud: CRACK!  A flash of light. A roll of thunder.  I was wide awake at 2:00 am - awake as a nocturnal newborn at the breast of her sleepy mother.  For the remainder of the storm I sat upright, half mesmerized by, half terrified of, nature's fury. I felt small, small and vulnerable but my husband, my children, they rode it out peacefully, kept right on dreaming. Finally, though, near the end, when of all that sparking and booming had, for the most part, run its course, Benji stumbled into our bed and I was grateful for his need to be comforted. There is nothing to worry about, sweetheart, I whispered confidently, repeatedly, just like I was supposed to. Hours later, I awoke to brightness, to a dry calm. I tend to be braver, coherent, less forgetful, when the sun is shining.

Mom! You've got to look at this! Out front my eldest son was pointing wildly to a massive tree limb blocking our sidewalk and blowing the minds of passers- by with its hugeness and gnarled branches reaching out into the street like the fingers of a zombied corpse. It was a haunting scene, one I couldn't look away from until they came in with their chain saws and, quick as a wink, cut the whole mess down into manageable, cartable sized pieces. And now no evidence remains, save the jagged, exposed, butter-colored, bark-less insides of a trunk maimed and scarred by the violence of spring. 

I think I need a nap but, boy oh boy, it sure is nice out. I'd kind of hate to close my eyes in the midst of such beauty.